The Phantom of the Manor
by Eliyah the Slytherpuff
Summary: Death has always been a resident of the mansion built over the Opera Populair's remains, and one young young lady gets to learn first hand what it means to attract the attention of the cursed outcast. The mystery of the mansion and the murders of the former residents all tie to a certain masked specter. What can she do to stop history from repeating itself? E/OC - AU
1. Greetings

Hello all, and thank you for choosing this story.

I am using this as a basic introduction.

The story lies within, and I shan't give anything away.

However, this is not a time-travel fic. All of this is set in the present day, with both Book and Musical influences.

WARNING:

This story is rated T for descriptions of abuse, some language, and romantic encounters.

If any of this will cause you mental trauma, I suggest you reconsider before diving in.

A message to my original readers:

What do you think of the title and the description? Are they good? I can't decide, to be honest.

Forever your servant,

Phantom-Lover 312


	2. New Arrival

**Alrighty then, here is the first new chapter of _The Phantom of My House_.**

 **This all takes place more in the book's universe, but elements of the movie and musical will heavily influence the storyline.**

 **DISCLAIMER: I do not in fact own Phantom. I would like to thank Andrew Lloyd Webber and Gaston Leroux for letting us play in their sandboxes.**

 **On with the story!**

* * *

Folds of darkness rippled over me. Black water refusing me light or sight. My breathing remained steady. I had lost feeling in my arm…was it an hour ago? Three? I don't remember. Pain started to pet at the bottom of my lungs, causing a dull ache. _She looked strange under water._

"Ma'am."

A voice pierces the veil enshrouding me. That darkness that I had plunged into began to stir violently. _She looked better where the rippling could change horns to a halo_. Light trickled in just a bit. I cannot do more than mumble a "yes."

"We've landed, ma'am."

I forced my eyes open, allowing the light glinting off the airplane's wing to blind me temporarily. There was no one else on the plane, just the stewards and myself. "Thank you for waking me." I said, slurring a bit of my words.

I groaned as I rose to my feet. My knees had popped along the journey. After being in the same seat, with no movement, for seven hours, standing up felt like landing on a whole new planet. My knees almost refused to bend as I walked down the aisles of the plane. "Thank you for flying with us. Enjoy Paris, mademoiselle." The attendant bowed her head just a bit as she spoke.

I returned the gesture. "Thank you very much. Have a great day." My smile never broke, despite the pin-and-needle kind of pains in my legs, as I dragged my little suitcase off the airplane and onto the extendable bending hallway, despite the pains in my legs. Everything hurt just a bit, and I did not know whether to chalk it up to jet lag or lack of use. Nevertheless, I pushed forward. I could not leave my father waiting for me.

The terminal was packed full of people, yelling farewells to loved ones, greeting visitors, calling out to those missing. It was not hard for me to notice that my dad was not among the throng. Panic drove my heart to beat a little faster before I could truly think about what was happening. _We've been abandoned._ The little thoughts declared. _He forgot that I was coming today._

 _Calm down._ I ordered through a nice deep breath. _He probably didn't want to get stuck in security._ I weaved my way through the little tickertape that the security had provided. After being scanned for weapons, I emerged in a food court area. The strong scent of bitter coffee clung to the air the way the stench of alcohol clings to the clothes of the local drunk.

A certain figure, with brown hair that matched mine, took my notice from the smell. Christophe Dubois, the man I call father, was walking over to greet me, a paper coffee cup nestled in his right hand. "Bonjour, mon petite fille." He leaned in and laid his lips lightly on my forehead, like a feather's kiss. I groaned. How could I not? A forty-something year old man kissing a seventeen-year-old was a bit of an oddity, though not many people seemed to notice here in the Charles du Galle.

"Dad, I'm not eight anymore."

He twisted his face to show pure sorrow, held his hand above his heart, and declared "I know this, there is no need for you to remind me, my precious child. Oh, you grew too quickly!" To think I let this man show his face in public.

A quick peck on the cheek, and he was as good as new. "Don't worry, Daddy. One day you'll find a way to reverse the aging process. Then I'll be eight and adorable forever."

"Yes, yes, one day." He said, followed by that booming laughter that I had loved since I could remember. "I have missed you, my sweet little Minta." He slipped behind me and grabbed my bag, taking over the duty of dragging it through the airport.

We were quiet while we walked, mostly because the only way we could have heard each other is if we were yelling. Sure, where we met was quiet enough, but outside that little bubble the world exploded with noise. The sheer decibels that the airport put out were dizzying. Dad grabbed my hand. "You'll be alright, Minta." His lips moved faster than the words came out.

My luggage was one of the first to the carousel. A little girl giggled when she saw me tugging at the black suitcase with a pink bow. Dad walked me out to the pickup lanes, where a grey, almost nondescript town car met us. A nice gentleman helped Dad stow the bags in the trunk as I watched on. It was almost embarrassing, just standing there, but I did not move.

Dad opened the door to me, motioning me in. I claimed the left side window, Dad to the right side window, and we used the middle seat as a place to leave open air. He started talking about his job, mentioning the 'petrol' refining process only in the lightest details because, as he put it, "It's very boring, and you've had enough of that."

His eyes lit up as we entered the city proper, and I cannot say that mine did not.

The Eiffel Tower hung over the city like a beacon of strength.

As we entered the _arrondissement_ that held our home, the Arc du Triumph was just barely visible.

Finally, the vehicle pulled into a large circular driveway. I was not disappointed by the façade of the mansion that my father had acquired.

It reminded me of the Rothschild manor, before the decay had taking from its aesthetics. White stone built up the walls and held two levels of windows and a roof that could account as a level all of its own. The blackened tiles that topped the place accented the ivy that twirled up the corners and hung onto the bricks. The roof stretched as far as to hang over the indentation that was the entrance. A fountain, by no means small, sprung comfortably from the center of the driveway. It mirrored the large gothic doors. Somehow it seemed…bigger than the space around it allowed. Yet looking up into its levels and its peaceful atmosphere, I felt the horribly conflicting feelings of tranquility and dread rise into my chest.

The driver halted the car but made no move to get out. Dad pushed himself out. I unclipped my seatbelt and began following him when the car made a resounding _click_ noise. Locked. "Dad?"

He gave me a rather peculiar look. "I need you to stay in the car for a quick minute, Minta."

"Why?"

"It's not important."  
"Dad, if there's something you're not telling me- "

"Minta- "

"Dad- "

"Aminta-Rose Dubois," my protest died in my throat, "stay in this car until I come back out. Do you understand?"

 _Aminta-Rose_. I nodded solemnly, watching him scale the steps alone. It was like watching a great hero climb the mountains of the Gods. _Why did he have to use my whole name?_ Despite curiosity, I found myself pressed down into my seat. He slipped through the large doors, and I waited.

A glint caught my eye, just as whatever it was moved to the side of the house. _What is that?_ I wondered.

Minutes passed. The door finally reopened, and Dad came out smiling like a younger man. The driver exited the car and opened my door, allowing me to step out. "What was that about?" I inquired, lifting my carry-on out of the trunk.

Dad turned to look me over before breaking out that smile again. "Nothing, Min-Min." That stupid nickname got me rolling my eyes and Dad barking out laughter. Dad said something to the driver, and since it was in French I couldn't understand it, before guiding me into the house.

* * *

 **No Erik this chapter, but we have met our protagonist! Aminta-Rose Dubois, the name was submitted to me by _Child of Music and Dreams_ and we got to talking about all the nicknames that can stem from the idea. I really liked it, so thank you for that!**

 **Remember, comments are to fanfiction writers what money is to employees.**

 **It lets us know we are appreciated.**

 **Until the next chapter,**

 **Phantom-Lover 312**


	3. Of Dinners and Notes

_Hello once again._

 _I'm glad to see you here at this chapter._

 _Thank you **Andimpink** and **Child of Music and Dreams** commenting, favorite-ing, and following._

 _Thank you **ShadowsInTheMinds** for following._

 _Enjoy, everyone._

 _I'll see you down below._

* * *

I thought the outside had looked majestic. Whoever built this mansion built it for the gods.

Polished black stone swept across the foyer, the edges of the room curving slightly up the white wooden walls. A grand stair case, split down the middle, climbed up to the second floor, with a balcony-like point at the top shading a massive door. Two tall archways rested at the base of the stairs, light pouring through each path.

The crowning jewel of this place was the crystal chandelier hovering above the room. Little rainbows, hailing from each handing crystal, swirled around the room.

"Daddy…"

Probably knowing I would have this kind of a reaction, Dad placed his hand on my shoulders in an attempt to steady me. I had not even realized that I needed steadying until then. "It's amazing, isn't it?" He was smiling, I knew it. Seeing me in total awe always got Dad to smile.

My eyes roamed more, taking in the ferns potted by the arches. The little table in the center of the room, where you could place a large bouquet or a recently earned trophy. "This must have costed a fortune."

The pressure of his hands lessened. "It's a good thing I work at a fortune 500, isn't it?" He took my bags and started for the left side of the room, towards the glowing archway. "Come on, I'll show you where you'll be staying for a bit."

I furrowed my brows, but I obeyed all the same. Walking down the hallway was another breathtaking experience. My father had not been much of an artist, but the paintings that filled spaces not taken by windows were dazzling. They were not the generic artists that you hear rich people debating. I do not think those artists would be brave enough to paint some of these scenes.

A sunrise, where the ground outside of the light was pitch black and the sky was steadily turning brighter shades of red.

A very realistic glass bottle, with the top half smashed. Each piece of glass must have taken the artist forever.

A bride and groom standing before a world of…clowns and oddities? The painting depicted a bearded lady, a girl sitting on top of a sword, an androgynous individual with smoke coming out their nose, and two midgets sharing the same chair. That was excluding the clowns and the ringleader, yet all of the guests leered at the wedding with disdain.

Each painting seemed older than the last, yet the signature on each was the same. Several more common pieces could be found scattered throughout the hallway, but those three caught my attention the most.

Dad and I had walked nearly the length of the corridor when he stopped at an inconspicuous door. He opened it with grace that I had not known him for and offered me in first.

The room was smaller, with most of the amenities almost crammed in. The bed had simple blankets, the dresser was more of a nightstand than a dresser, and the closet was just a curtain rod hung at an angle.

In short, this room was exactly like the one I had when I lived in Hell. _Her shadow hung in the doorway like the angel of death._

"I know it's not much," Dad's voice reminded me of where I was, "but this will have to do until your room's finished."

 _What?_ "I thought…" I turned to face my father's sheepish face.

He rubbed the nape of his neck, grinning about nothing in particular. "There was a slight…accident…with your room. It's being taken care of as we speak.

Now then," he slammed his hands together like Mr. Miyagi, though no epic music started with the action, "I do have people come and tend to the house, there is a little old lady that comes by to clean on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. She has a key, so don't worry about having to let her in. Her husband is a gardener, so he likes to come by and check the trees and such. I've arranged for you to have a private tutor. Don't worry, it's just to avoid too much culture shock. I believe he said he would stop by during the afternoon, but be dressed at all times just in case. The tutor does not have a key, so you will have to keep an ear out for the door."

He mumbled something like 'am I forgetting anything,' but it was hard to catch. "Any questions? No? Good. I will get you the number for my office in case I get called away. They'll know better when I will come back."

"Do you travel a lot for work?"

A sad smile grew slightly on his face. "Only every other month. We'll have plenty of time together.

"Oh right, I almost forgot." Dad's expression had darkened considerably, which raised the hairs on the back of my neck. "Try and be very respectful of the house. It's very old, and I don't want any of its ghosts to come back and get you."

I could not help but scoff. "Ghosts? Are you serious?"

Dad tried to laugh, but it did not look like he really wanted to. "Just be careful, alright Minta?"

I held out my pinky finger, which he hooked his own around. You are never too old for pinky promises. We nodded in sync before leaving the room and heading back to the foyer.

Dad took me to a place near the mansion to eat, though I could not pronounce the name of the establishment or the food they served. He handled ordering the food, speaking so quickly that he and the waitress sounded like they were just enjoying gibberish.

I took note of every person who gave use sympathetic looks. They did not worry me. It was their friends, who looked at us as disdainfully as one would the devil, that I felt compelled to watch. When I asked why they were watching us, Dad just laughed and said not to worry.

The food arrived, leaving me gob smacked. Dad's plate looked like one that Bobby Flay or Gordon Ramsey whip up all the time on TV, with half of a bird glazed with sauce and perfectly whittled mushrooms. I did not know that it was possible to whittle mushrooms. Balancing the plate out were sugar snap peas, they themselves colored with a fine glaze. Mine was spectacular as well, featuring a plate almost exactly like his just without the peas. In their place was a whipped vegetable of some kind. It was a light orange and swirled up like a perfect ice cream cone.

One bite came as a heavenly sign that this was a good place to be. Unlike my own attempts at fancy food, this was truly amazing. The whip that I mentioned? It was sweet potatoes. Delicious buttery sweet potatoes. Dad let me have some of his sugar snap peas, and I was thoroughly shocked by the light orange taste that they held.

Halfway through dinner, his phone went off. Dad groaned as he hung up the phone, ending what had seemed to be a rather heated discussion. "I'm so sorry, Minta. They need me in Calais, something about the factory workers acting up." He motioned to our waitress and began talking with her very quickly. She left to repeat whatever Dad had said to another person. "She's going to send a car for you to get you back to the manor once you're finished."

Despite the deliciousness of the dinner, I willingly pushed it forward. "You don't have to do that, Dad. I can go now."

"Minta, don't worry." He pushed the food back over to me, smiling. "Finish, and then they'll take you home." As he left, he flashed the 'I love you' sign before leaving the restaurant.

An old gentleman came over to my table only a second after. He began speaking hushed French, and when I told him I did not understand, he seemed a bit surprised. "Pardon me." He croaked a bit as he spoke. "You live in the manor?"

"Yes I live in a manor, why?"

"The manor? You live where the Opera once stood?"

 _Opera?_ No one had mentioned an opera, so this man's words seemed sudden.

" _Grandfather!_ " A new voice entered the conversation, a young man who came running over and grabbed the old man's wheelchair. He began speaking rapid French at me, and all I could do was apologize and explain that I could not understand him either. "Forgive him, he is old. He forgets his manners."

The grandfather began saying something desperately to his grandson, who then turned to me. "Does your home reside in the arts district? Lots of museums and opera houses?"

What an exact and eerie description. "Yes." I felt walls building up around me, guarding my thoughts and emotions from the people before me. That cold mask that I donned showed disinterest. "Why?"

He shook his head and spoke to his grandfather as though he were explaining something. "He is afraid of the place, and believes that all must fear it as well."

The old man found this a perfect time to speak again. "Madelaine and Elliana were unafraid, and now they are gone. That Hell they braved swallowed them whole."

Fear struck my chest, but my mask of indifference remained steady. _Madelaine and Elliana. I will have to look those names up later. They are very pretty._

The young man – who introduced himself as Archer by the end of our conversation – took his grandfather back to their table. I, at a loss of my appetite, wrote a quick thank you to the chefs for the dinner and headed out into the darkness of the Parisian streets.

The driver came quickly, and our journey was silent. He did not wait to see that I entered the manor, leaving as soon as I stepped out and closed the door. The bitter night air stung my cheeks, and I retreated indoors with the speed of a small child.

To say I was shocked was an understatement. Where an empty table had stood before was now a glass vase bearing a lovely orchid. The slender stalk was graced with several blossoming purple flowers. A little note rested at the base of the vase, with my name written out in a lovely calligraphy.

The writing was mostly in English, though the cursive was so tight that I had to read it several times to get the full message from it.

 ** _To Mademoiselle Aminta-Rose Dubois,_**

 ** _Welcome to the Maison d'Obscurité. I am the Angel that guards this home, and I expect that you will treat it with respect and dignity. Should you refuse to care for this place, it will not care for you._**

 ** _Your obedient servant_** _._

I rolled my eyes at the letter. "Bravo, Dad." My voice carried through the house as I yelled. "You nearly got me there. Come on out."

Silence, so much so that a pin dropping would have caused less panic.

"Hardy-har har. Well fine then, I can play along." I marched down to my room and tore a clean piece of paper out of one of my various notebooks. Scrounging through my backpack made a pen appear, and with it I began my reply.

 ** _To my obedient servant,_**

 ** _If there is any way that I can assist in keeping this as a house of order, please let me know. So help me, I will treat this home as though it were a Temple built in my honor._**

 ** _Forever yours,_**

 ** _Minta_**

I folded the note and slipped it under the door. Dad could pick it up in the morning. Since I was in my room anyway, I chose to change into my pajamas and burrow underneath the blankets. My eyes fastened shut, and all of my thoughts drained away.

Or so I thought.

 _"_ _Please let me in! It's cold!"_

* * *

 _Okay, so I don't normally do these "stats" in the end comments, but I kind of want to._

Words: 1995 (Without AN)

Pages: 4

Number of comments as I am publishing this chapter: 3

 _We can step that up, guys._

 _If you guys can get me triple that before the next chapter is ready, I will make sure that the next one is longer than this._

 _Not that I wouldn't anyway._

 _I'm not one of those "comment or suffer" writers._

 _I will post either way._

 _I'll just pay more attention to the chapters because I know people are wanting those chapters._

 _Love,_

 _Me_


	4. Missives

_Hello._

 _I'm sorry that it took me so long to upload this chapter. I've been very distracted with college._

 _Thank you to **ShadowsInTheMind, Imagination Writer 247, liveinthewrongdecade, Brackenfern, tobehonest17,** and **SeerFlight1011** for following._

 _Thank you **Danish Fantasy Girl** and **BookNerd1812** and for favorite-ing_

 _Thank you to **UnseenAngel17, MeganElizabeth99, chrissymama,** and **CearaCannon** for following and favorite-ing_

 _Enjoy, everyone._

 _I'll see you down below._

* * *

When I woke the next morning, I was still shaking. The sweat did not bother me anymore. It had not since I was twelve. This shaking, however, was new and troubling. Pain formed above my left eye, and I pressed my palm against it to force the vein back into my head. _Was I sick?_

No. Just cold.

 _"I promise! Please just let me back in!"_

Another tendril of shivers racked my body, like a leaf in the autumn wind. I felt destined to fall off the tree. But that had become a normal feeling at 7 in the morning.

I fought ever instinct my body had as I sat up. My muscles constricted violently, trying to bind me back to the mattress and into the comforting folds of slumber. _I have no responsibilities this morning. There's no reason for me to be awake right now._ Infallible logic. I crashed back against the pillows that Dad had provided for me. I rolled onto my stomach and slid my hands under the pillow, wanting to use the coolness to help calm my nerves. Something greeted my touch, causing me to catch my breath.

There was a crinkling unlike any paper I had felt before snatched in my fingers as I clutched the thick paper. It was not very thick, like leather. It was like slightly heavier cardstock, with an almost velvety sensation to it.

The object was paper-like, but not a kind of paper I recognized. It was a faded yellow color, with sharp crimson ink staining the middle third. The other thirds were sealed with wax on the back side. The ink was hard to read at first, because the cursive was so scrawled and flawless that it looked like a font on a computer.

 ** _Mademoiselle Aminta-Rose DuBois_**

It was the same handwriting as the night before. No deviation from the style, which was impossible for human hands. Yet the way the letters flowed seemed impossible for computers to comprehend. Was Dad to blame for this? Could he have managed this somehow? I had never known him to be an apt calligrapher. I broke the seal impulsively, but my fingers couldn't unfold the letter. My eyes drank in the wax-formed skull, now resting in two perfect halves along the crease line. Dad hated skulls outside of the Halloween season, and August was a good few months off.

 _Should I even open it?_ I asked, hands trembling as I rubbed the corners with my fingertips. Strength left my arms, and my hands flopped down onto the bed. Finally finding the courage, I flipped open the creases.

 ** _I appreciate your willingness to assist in the care of this home. There are simple rules that you must follow, and we will live in harmony._**

 ** _You are welcome to walk about, but be cautious when entering the basements. The third basement is off limits, and you will be informed if the second or first are as well._**

 ** _I do not allow strangers into this home without prior consent. You will inform me of any individuals that are to come. Your father has already informed me of the presence of a tutor, and the maid is known to me._**

 ** _Should there be a problem of any sort, you will not call in someone from the outside. Merely leave a list of the errors and they will be righted._**

 ** _I will not tolerate meaningless music to drift through this hallowed place where glory once sung. Be very cautious of what you listen to aloud._**

 ** _The history of this house is of no importance to you. However, if you find yourself in earnest for answers, I will provide them. Write them down, and I will respond._**

 ** _If you fail to adhere to the rules of this home, you will not be welcomed here._**

 ** _I sincerely apologize for the tardiness of your room. I was unaware of the purpose that your father had in refitting the room, and I halted his progress quite often. Now understanding the need, the room's completion will speed forward. You may expect to be in a new room by the beginning of next week._**

 ** _Your obedient servant._**

Questions? I had not had many until this moment. _Why is the history of the house unimportant? What purpose does the third basement have? When this…individual says 'meaningless music,' what do they mean?_

I jumped out of the bed and swung the door wide open. "Very funny!" My voice echoed through the hall, but the lack of boyish laughter rose the hairs on the back of my neck. I dressed quickly, throwing on mismatching socks, holey jeans, and a random t-shirt before marching down the halls in search of the prankster that I knew as my father.

Bathroom? No.

Library? No.

Study? No.

Second bathroom? No.

I stumbled into the kitchen with narrow eyes and knitted eyebrows. "Dad, this isn't funny anymore!" I declared.

That's when something on the counter caught my eye. It was a little piece of notebook paper, with jagged edges showing a rough tear out.

 **Minta,**

 **I won't be home until Monday, but I promise time will fly. We'll be together in no time!**

 **XX, no kisses,**

 **Dad**

Yesterday's date was written into the upper corner of the paper, which had me curious yet again. The writing was neat and legible, like Dad's had finally become, but it did not show any signs of similarity between the note written before.

I rubbed the corner of Dad's message. The one I know is Dad's. _What is going on?_

"Oh."

An aged voice surprised me. I turned to the doorway to see a woman. Her face was smooth, defying her ancient green eyes and grey hair. She wore a modest black dress that seemed to point out the broom in her hand quite pointedly. She began muttering in French, only to stop when she realized as she studied my face.

"You are the master's daughter." There was no room for disagreement in her words. She already knew who I was. Her voice crinkled in a way that I had expected her to when Dad first said we were going to have a maid. A thick accent leveled each word with grace and poise, like a beautiful dagger. She did not look like the pile of skin and bones I had originally envisioned, but at least she sounded it. "Aminta, isn't it?"

I straightened my back and nodded, scanning over her with an eye for concern. "Most people call me Minta."

The corners of her lips drew into a smile, though it felt more like a sneer to me. "Then I shall take great pleasure in being one of the few to call you Aminta. My name is Elliana Giry, but I would prefer Madame Giry."

 _Elliana._

 _Madelaine and Elliana were unafraid. That Hell they braved swallowed them whole._

The words came out before I had time to think and stop them. "Did you know someone named Madelaine, Madame?"

Her eyes widening was quite an answer. Shock, followed by pain and anger swept through those summer orbs. They flickered to the right before stabilizing themselves back on me. "I do not. Would you enlighten me?"

 _Liar. Tell me everything you know._

"It's nothing. Just something I heard."

She kept those eyes on me, but moved past me and began sweeping the corner furthest from the door. "Don't concern yourself with rumors. They inevitably do more harm than good."

"I'll keep that in mind, Madame. Have a good day." I quickly fled the kitchen, notes in hand, and returned to the foremost part of the house. The entrance hall.

 _Elliana. If you are alive, where is Madelaine?_

Hinges squealed, wood groaned, and I was once again surprised by the sudden sounds. The door, the one adjacent to the entrance, now stood ajar. I took faltering steps to the doorway and peaked inside. Darkness met my eyes, barring the light shining from behind me. I moved just a bit more in.

That was my first mistake.

I was thrown forward by the door as it slammed shut. Its crack echoed throughout the room I had stumbled into.

 _No problem._ I thought, reaching into the pockets of my jeans. _I'll just grab my phone and-_

 _Where's my phone?_

I ran my hands over myself multiple times, trying to feel for that plastic safety blanket that I carried with me. But no matter where I checked, I could not find it. Desperation settled in my stomach as I felt around on the floor.

Several repetitions of "no" fell from my mouth as I pushed and pulled at the door that had sealed itself off from the rest of the house. "Come on!" I screamed, slamming the wood with my palms.

 _No problem._ I thought, taking deep breaths. My hands reached into the pockets of my jeans. _I'll just grab my phone and-_

 _Where's my phone?_

I ran my hands over myself multiple times, trying to feel for that plastic safety blanket that I carried with me. But no matter where I checked, I could not find it. Desperation settled in my stomach as I felt around on the floor.

Have you ever experienced pure darkness? In this place, light did not shine from any place. Not even the cracks in the door. The only way for me to know where the location of the doorknob was when I accidently drove my side into it. Shadows swarmed me, and it felt like there was nothing. Not even a floor, though I could feel it through my socks.

The blur of a shadow on the door alerted me to the existence of light. I turned to face the very soft light of a candle. It looked as though it hovered in the air, but the shadows it cast showed a structure that was as high as my chest.

Nothing was in my way, I could have easily gone right up to the light, but I did not. I kept away from it, choosing instead to press myself against the wood with more determination to know only one area of this darkness. What if the candle were to out and leave me stranded in this place?

"Madame! Madame, please help me!" I yelled, pounding on the door more.

"She will not come."

* * *

 _Welcome to the end of the chapter._

 _So, what do you think of the ending here? Let me know in the comments._

 _A few people remarked about how the last chapter had a Wuthering Heights feel, and I regret saying that I have not enjoyed this particular Bronte novel. I am not one to condon spoilers, but if anyone would like to tell me in what exact regard the chapter felt like this story, I would enjoy it immensely._

 _EDIT (11/7/2016) **Child of Music and Dreams** filled me in on the WH thing, so it's clear now._

 _I look forward to seeing you all again in the next chapter. I just hope the wait isn't as long with the next one._

 _Forever yours_


	5. A Little Light

I'm sorry about the late posting. I was supposed to work in this more during Thanksgiving break, but I decided helping feed the 25 family member who came was more important. I hope everyone had a good break (if you have not had one yet, I hope you have a good break eventually). Here is the next chapter. Thanks will be given at the bottom.

* * *

My knees failed me, leaving my body to slide down the wood until I was resting on the floor. "Who's there?" The words came out in a hoarse whisper.

Nothing answered the question. I called out a few more times, but the voice echoing back was always mine.

 _That…that was definitely a man's voice._ I wrapped my arms around me, rubbing my forearms in an attempt to find comfort. _Who…_

The candle flickered.

I crawled forward, towards the light. The trailing shadows became more understandable as I moved forward. Rows of chairs, softly light by orange light, revealed their diamond-patterned seats.

My hands hit the stage front before the rest of me did. They trailed up the structure and landed close to the candlestick.

That same feeling velvety feeling from the note greeted my fingertips. I recoiled, though I did not know why. Once again, the note was sealed at the third with a red wax skull. A sensation like dread and curiosity settled in my stomach like lead as I took the missive in my hands.

My name was scrawled on it beautifully, beginning the message once more with "Mademoiselle Aminta-Rose DuBois" in that calligraphic style.

"Curiosity is a fine feature, but not one I would encourage in my house, Mademoiselle." I read aloud, thumb underlining the text. There was a patch on the paper that felt as though someone had scratched at it enough to dent the surface without leaving a truly visible mark.

A vicious little wind whipped across the platform. I had felt it grow closer, and I cupped my hands around the flame in an attempt to keep what little light I had from dwindling. The breeze used my hands to quickly snuff the candle. I screamed as I was once again left in that darkness, crushing the letter in my fists.

My mind began flickering though old memories, searching for the melodies that had brought me comfort back in Hell. I flickered through songs that I knew were not too well connected to _her_. The last thing I needed after being trapped in the dark was my mind playing tricks on me and bringing her back to life.

A song flew from the file of memory and floated out of my mouth. I was taken aback by the choice within the first few notes of my selection, since I had not listened to it in such a long time. _How did I even know the words, much less remember them?_

" _Are you, are you, coming to the tree?_

 _They strung up a man, they say who murdered three."_

Flickers of her caused me to falter. I remembered being under my bed, curled up in a ball and quietly humming that same melody as she stormed into the room. The air became stifling, both then and at the moment when the darkness was swallowing me.

 _"Strange things did happen here, no_

 _Stranger would it be_

 _If we met at mid-Night_

 _in the Hanging Tree._ "

I rebelled against her memory, shutting her out and opening my mouth once more. She could do nothing here. I was safe, and I knew that. Why then did I feel eyes stalking me, judging me? I kept singing regardless. The music filled the space, the echo of my voice ringing in my ears.

" _Are you, are you, coming to the tree_

 _Where a dead man called out_

 _For his love to flee?_

 _Strange things did happen here, no_

 _Stranger would it be_

 _If we met at mid-Night_

 _in the Hanging Tree._ "

My voice grew stronger with every word, until finally the room was practically singing with me. It sounded so harmonious, despite my own human errors where music was concerned. The feeling of eyes still trapped me, but it was softer now. Like when you are almost asleep, and you can feel your loving father checking on his princess.

" _Are you, are you, coming to the tree_

 _Where I told you to run_

 _So we'd both be free_

 _Strange things did happen here, no_

 _Stranger would it be_

 _If we met at mid-Night_

 _in the Hangin-"_

Bright lights burst to life, blinding me despite my hands covering my eyes. I turned to face the door, but I had to stop and admire the room I was in. It was like a theater, with red rows of seats. There were maybe a hundred cushioned chairs, with that diamond pattern I had noticed. I was leaned up against a stage. The light slats had dark detailing to them, almost black like charcoal.

The ceiling was solidly divided by the little curtain trim. Above the audience, there were little partitions that made their way down to the farthest wall. Over the stage, however, there were catwalks that the trim disguised perfectly.

One of the hanging platforms was swinging ever so slightly.

A loud squealing erupted throughout the auditorium. I jumped, screaming a little as I did, before seeing the open door and taking my chance. Darting out of the room, I nearly collided with the little center table in the hall.

Tears teased at my eyes as I looked down on another note with my name on it. Sitting right next to my phone, as fate would have it. "Why?" I breathed, clutching that dreaded parchment in my hand. My fist shrank around it as I screamed, "Why are you doing this to me!?"

"Mademoiselle."

I turned to see little Madame Giry, broom in hand like a doll. She stood between the auditorium and I, like a sentinel. _Was she protecting me or that place?_

I chuckled, albeit nervously, tucking the various notes I had discovered behind my back. "Madame, I'm sorry if I frightened you."

"Do not be stupid, miss." Her words were sharp. _An elegant dagger indeed._ "If a place looks forbidden, it most certainly is.

"What is that room, anyway? Some sort of theater?"

A small turn of the lips brought both relief and nervousness. I was right, but at the same time, I was _right._ "Why don't you head out to the garden, _mademoiselle_? The roses that grow on this property are magnificent."

A thinly veiled threat or a subtle hint? It did not matter, I wanted out of the house. Something about it was not…normal. "I think I will. Thank you, Madame." I snatched my phone, turned on the ball of my foot and marched out of the house, making a point not to slam the door.

I leaned the walls that clung to ivy around the sides of the house. A hedge, twice my height, shielded my walk from prying neighbors. Stepping closer, I would see only some of the outside world through the thick leaves and tangled twigs. The iron gate the car drove through seemed out of place, its position firmly anchored in the hedges. That was until I inspected the hedges further and found a fence, iron as well, that rose almost to my neck.

 _Escape is nearly impossible._ My brain analyzed, regardless of my little desire to run away. Here was safety, if one ignored the strange offenses of the house.

I followed the hedge, dragging my fingers through without a second thought. Birds gently sang, the air smelled sweet. Despite the city raging all around me, it was a quiet paradise.

I came around to the back of the manor, and I stopped. Madame was right, the garden was beautiful.

The man tending it, too.

* * *

So here it is.

I know that Erik was supposed to play a bigger role, but I'm trying to avoid the cliche of "Poof! Erik!" There needs to be some kind of build up to the introduction.

The song is the Hanging Tree from the Hunger Games. I do not own that. I do not own the Phantom of the Opera. I just own the idea.

Thank you for following,

 **emmaaaaaaw** , **Dove13** , **645** , **Scribe of All Trades** , and **KeepingThemAtBay**

Thank you for favoriting,

 **Imagination Writer 247** , **KaraZor-el98** , and **bella cullen the original**

And a _special thank_ you to

 **KeepingThemAtBay** and **Child of Music and Dreams**

for leaving comments. CMD, thank you for the chapter. It was incredibly insightful. KTABay, I appreciate the compliments!

You both get _**cookies**_!

So, the teaser.

Who is the man in the garden?

Why is Erik tormenting Aminta?

Will we ever see our beloved masked man?

Find out...eventually!


	6. A Look Into His Mind

To say I was disappointed in Monsieur Dubois would be a bit of an understatement. He arrived home without his daughter, grabbed one of his many "call bags" and turned his back to the door. "I'll be gone for a week, monsieur. Please take care of Aminta-Rose for my sake. Should anything happen to her, I would have to inform the authorities, and that would not work out well for either of us." He then turned and marched out the door once more. The roaring engine of an automobile faded away as he left.

When Aminta-Rose returned to the manor by herself, I found myself looking for her reaction to her father's disappearance. There was not much of a reaction until she looked at the message I had left her. She looked around, eyes shining with amusement. "Bravo, Dad." She called out. When Monsieur Dubois did not appear there, she shrugged and left for her room.

A call from Calais must have come in, I realized. Her father was a good man; he would not leave her alone with a monster for a week if he did not have to. I went to her room after a minute, having allowed her to change in privacy. Despite the horrendous deeds I had committed in the past, I refused to be like the peeking stage hands. I heard the sound of paper tearing, and I watched her write out something in a green pen. Once she was done, the message went under the door.

I slipped out of the walls into the hallway. The paper was quickly snatched up by my black gloved hand. As I read over it, I could not help but allow surprise to enter my mind. A note written to the obedient servant rather than by. None of the others had ever been so bold, and there had been plenty of others.

Elliana could attest to that.

I wrote her a note back and waited until she fell asleep. Once I was certain I would not be discovered, I stepped out from the wall and slid my reply under her pillow. Standing over her, I felt the rush that I used to get when I controlled the opera house.

Now that was ancient history.

I turned to leave the room, only to stop when I heard a peculiar noise. Looking at her once more, I found her face scrunched into an expression of resistance. She desperately kicked at the blankets. Her fists battered the pillows. For a moment, I felt deeply concerned about her wellbeing.

 _Stop. We have work to do_. I reminded myself. Stepping into the hidden passages once more, I made my way to her room. The one Monsieur Dubois had been working on before _my_ "interruption" stalled him.

The beige carpet was still singed, particularly in four precise points on the floor. I amazed myself sometimes. Burning the bed had sent a very clear message, which Monsieur Dubois received very clearly. Somewhere I still had the note he had written me in which he demanded I let him finish his daughter's room.

I responded with questions about the girl. Monsieur Dubois was vague when sharing about Aminta-Rose. He spoke very little about her then-current living conditions, electing to tell me only her name, age, and level of obedience. It was almost reminiscent of the time when the Thomas patriarch tried justifying the presence of a horrendous mutt in my home.

Watching her walk into the manor for the first time, it was like reading a page of a book. The wonder and awe that shown in her blue eyes was child-like. Pure and innocent. However, when she was shown to her temporary room, I was able to watch them harden, like a true soldier's when discussing the horrors of war.

 _We have work to do. Stop dawdling._ My thoughts snapped, forcing me back on track.

During my time, I had been many things. One was an architect. This made fixing the damage that I had caused quite simple. Or at least, simpler than what Monsieur Dubois had suggested. _Asking for assistance, as if we need it._ I worked through the night, not needing to stop.

I had not had to sleep since before Germany invaded.

Light soon poured through the windows, and I heard the sound of Mademoiselle Dubois's voice. "Very funny." The words floated through the house, signaling that my work had to end. Lest she discover me.

The walls were no barrier to me, I could slip through hidden openings and travel through them wherever I would like to go. Where to was up to Mademoiselle Dubois, and it appeared as if she did not know where to go. She wandered through the majority of the manor, peeking into the rooms for no more than a second before closing the doors and moving on. I followed, curious as to what she was thinking.

She froze in the kitchen, reading over a note that Monsieur Dubois had laid out before leaving for Calais. It caused her to narrow her eyes, scrunch her forehead, and rub the corner.

That was when she met Elliana.

At first, their words were clipped and necessary. Then Mademoiselle Dubois asked a question. "Do you know someone named Madelaine, Madame?"

It could have been easily overlooked. A question of innocence, perhaps some sort of American joke. A stereotype based around that name would make sense given its popularity at one point. Her eyes gave away her meaning, however. Somehow she had heard of Madelaine and Elliana in the short amount of time that she had been in country. Had the circumstances been different, I would have forgiven and forgotten. But it was in the rules, which she had read over and agreed to. Elliana was smart enough to give a nonreactive answer, but it did not change the situation.

Curiosity must be controlled. Many lives were lost in times long past because they could not quench their need to know.

My plan to trap her in the performance hall worked well. She walked in with no resistance, and seemed quite frightened when she realized that escape was futile. I felt a touch of empathy for her, especially as she searched desperately for the mobile telephone that had fallen out of her pocket and into my hands. Hopefully this would be enough that she would think before asking more questions without my consideration. I was about to turn on the lights when a strange, revitalizing sound filled the air.

Music. Just the lyrics to a quiet song.

The words were strange, but not meaningless. In truth, they were not what I was paying attention to. Aminta-Rose Dubois's singing was not magnificent – only one person that I had ever met had a voice that left him speechless, but thinking about her was like picking at bloody stitches – but it was above the average singing that I had had to endure throughout my time. She sounded…sad. And scared.

I hurriedly scratched out a note on some spare parchment that I had carried with me and left it out on the center table, with the telephone of course. Flicking the switch meant fleeing the scene quickly, and I took no small amount of pleasure in watching her run from the hall. It was just like the old days.

* * *

I'm sorry that this wasn't out sooner. I've just gotten done with finals, and I have two weeks to keep working on this. I wish you all many happy holidays, and I will update as soon as I can.

Thank you to all the people who have followed, favorited, and commented. Comments encourage me.


	7. Roses

**Hello everyone.**

 **Sorry that it's been nearly 3 months since I last updated. Muse comes and goes for me, but luckily I managed to sit down and write out another chapter.**

 **I'll see you down below.**

* * *

He was tall, perhaps a good foot taller than me. The guy was nestled in the rose bushes, gingerly holding a bud in his hand while the other cleared out dead parts of the bush. A part of me started searching for a name as his ashy blonde hair that crept into his eyes seemed familiar.

Suddenly he looked up at me. His eyes shone with a green light. " _Mademoiselle_ Dubois."

That voice.

"Archer?"

A dazzling smile broke across his face. He shook his head while laughing, keeping that emerald gaze locked on me. "I cannot believe I left enough of an impression for you to remember my name."

"Same." I could not stop the smile that formed.

He closed the space between us, clasping my hands in his. As soon as we were touching, a feeling ignited in my stomach that refused to settle. There were no words, he simply led me to a bench where I was surrounded by the white blossoms of the trees and the bursting reds of the roses. The air smelled sweet, a gentle enough breeze whispering in my ears and filling me with peace.

"I have to go tend the _muguet_ – how do you say, the lily-of-the-valley?" He muttered something under his breath that sounded a bit like y _es, I think that is right._ "I will be back _._ " He stepped over the beds of flowers to a patch of white flowers on the other side of the garden.

I watched him for a second before remembering the hall. The voice.

The note.

I reached into my pocket and drew out the notes, sifting through them until I found the newest one. **_Curiosity is dangerous. Do keep yourself in check._** A part of me felt insulted that he did not have more to say, but the brevity served its purpose. Was he angry about me talking to Madame Giry? I knew he was angry about me entering the auditorium ( _why does a big fancy mansion even have an auditorium?_ ) but that was all I had done to anger him as far as I knew. Which in turn, angered me.

 _How dare this intruder accuse me of something. I haven't done anything._ I thought, huffing a bit as the thoughts whizzed through my mind.

" _Mademoiselle_?" I nearly jumped when Archer spoke. "I'm sorry, I did not mean to startle you."

I smiled up at him as I shoved the note into my pocket. "Don't worry about it. Come," I patted the spot on the bench next to me, "take a break."

He took the seat. We sat shoulder to shoulder in complete silence. Listening to the private oasis that the mansion offered. It was not to last as a question built up in my mind. "Archer, is the mansion haunted?" His eyes widened, mouth slightly agape. Perhaps I was too sudden? "Not that I believe in ghosts. I'm just curious."

He laughed, forced though it was. "Curiosity is dangerous here, _mademoiselle._ "

 _That's exactly what he said._ I thought, fighting to keep a neutral face as he spoke. The last think I needed was for my emotions to betray my thoughts.

"Is it? Why?" I was surprised at my own tone. The way I had said just those three words reminded me of those old movie women who lounge around in smoky rooms talking to gumshoes that are asking all the wrong questions.

" _Monsieur_ does not like when people ask too many questions. It is best to follow his rules and pray that he does not get angry."

His answer ignited something in my blood. "Who is this guy? Why should I listen to him?" I should have bitten my tongue after that. Apologized, left, anything. Instead, I held my ground and stared down Archer.

He wore quickly. "He kills those who pry. Trust me, it is best to be silent in his presence." Archer's eyes were darting all around the garden as he scooted a bit away from me.

"Did he kill Eliana and Madelaine?" Archer blanched. Then his eyes became dark, and I shrunk back. "I'm sorry…"

"You will be if you keep asking." Something about Archer seemed different all the sudden. His mouth was in a very severe frown, his eyes firmly planted on the ground rather than on me, and his eyebrows were curved down giving him a most angry look. His expression softened as he looked at me. "I do not mean to scare you, _Mademoiselle_ Dubois, but it is best not to ask others about those two."

"Others?" An option formed in my head. "I see." I rose from the bench and, having given Archer a quiet _goodbye_ , walked back into the manor.

I went straight to my room and closed the door with such force that I could hear the echo all the way down the hallway. Tearing out paper from a notebook, I grabbed a pen and started furiously scratching letters into the thin sheet.

 ** _Monsieur,_**

 ** _It seems I have mistakenly broken one of your rules. I didn't think that asking about old names given me by an old man was of any consequence. Perhaps you can answer them._**

 ** _Who are Eliana and Madelaine? What happened to them?_**

 ** _I don't ask out of curiosity. I want to know that I'm safe. Any information you can give will be appreciated._**

 ** _And you don't have to call me Aminta-Rose. Just Minta will do._**

 ** _Thanks_**

I did not bother to sign it because honestly, who else writes this guy notes? I slid it outside my door and flopped onto the bed. Boredom quickly overtook me.

 _Wasn't there a library_? I found myself asking. With a renewed sense of purpose, I walked down the hall – noticing that the note I had left was gone – heading to the opposite end, away from the entrance. I found the bathroom again, a good place to keep memorized, before opening the door to the library.

It was not grand and majestic, like Belle's in _Beauty and the Beast_. The walls were all just bookshelves that reached the ceiling but there was no grand second level. A few chairs dotted the back-left corner, a desk on the right-hand side. The dim light of a high window shone through layers of books, assisted by the lightbulb once I turned it on.

My fingers skimmed the spines of several books, reading the titles as best as I could. Many were French, and I found myself utterly butchering the language in my head as I tried to read them. The left corner had the English books, much to my relief. I plucked a random book from the shelf, not bothering with the title, and curled up in one of the chairs.

It was a history book, talking about the American Wild West and, more specifically, its outlaws. Butch Cassidy, Sundance, Big Nose George, Tom Horn. Those and more had sections dedicated to their crimes, their beginnings, and their downfalls. I was so engrossed in reading that I barely heard Madame Giry come on, and her announcement that she and Archer were leaving for the day just made it into my head between Cassidy's name change and Horn's execution.

By the time I put the book down, night had overtaken the city. I did not make dinner because the last thing I wanted to do was walk all the way across the mansion to just whip up some chicken and rice. Instead, I traded books and poured over the American Revolution.

The musical Hamilton came into my mind as I read about Alexander's contributions. Quietly I began humming the song _Aaron Burr, Sir_ until it got to the point that I had to start singing.

" _Can I buy you a drink?_

 _That would be nice!_

 _While we're talking,_

 _Can I offer you some free advice?_

 _Talk less. Smile more._

 _Don't let them know_

 _What you're against or what you're for._ "

A feeling crept up my spine. The one where you know you are alone, but you feel like someone is watching you regardless. I glanced around the room, paranoia settling in my stomach. "Hello?" _Oh yeah, that's brilliant, Minta. A person spying on you will definitely answer._

"Hello."

My heart stopped beating for half a second. _That voice._ It was the same on as before.

In the auditorium.

 _"She will not come."_

I jumped out of my seat and spun around, trying to see whoever was with me. However, he did not reveal himself. Yet his voice, it had sounded like it was right behind my chair. "Where are you?" I asked, watching the light switch in case a hand would sprout out of the wall or something and try to turn off the light.

"That is of no concern to you." His voice was harsh, quiet. Like he did not want to be heard while at the same time ensuring that I got every word. "Who told you those names?"

"Eliana and Madelaine? It was an old man at the restaurant Dad took me to yesterday."

"Did you get his name?"

"No." I shot out quickly. That man was lucky. If I had known…

There was a pause, poignant and bothersome.

"You're not going to tell me anything, are you?"

"Not likely." That fire that cannot be fought lit up. I found myself glaring at the wall, seeing as I did not have someone to glare at.

"Then why do this? Why not just write a note?"

There was another pause, not as long and not as bothersome. It was more like the pause someone has when they themselves are trying to think of an answer to a decent question.

"It is easier to discern truth from the source than from the writing."

I threw my hands in the air, heaving a sigh from my chest. "Whatever. I'm going to bed." I was heading for the door when a single word stopped me.

"Minta."

It was soft, like he was not sure he could use it. Like a little boy who just met a pretty girl and cannot help but turn on that bashfulness.

"Good night. I hope we can be civilized with one another."

I nodded, soaking in the words. "As do I, sir."

And with that, I left the library and nearly ran to my room. I locked the door and just laid on the bed, not bothering to change into pajamas. _What did he mean_ civilized _? He's the one who can't show his face. How am I supposed to be civilized with an apparition?_

My mind filled with questions as I drifted to sleep. I thought that I would sleep through the whole night, but a little sound woke me up. The creaking of hinges.

Slowly I sat up and peered into the darkness, letting my eyes fully adjust themselves. On my bureau was a single flower in a vase. Standing next to it was a figure clothed in darkness. I could not find it in me to scream. Instead I laid back down and fell asleep once more. I thought I was hallucinating, as I was bound to do when I was tired.

When the white bunch of lilac was still there in the morning, I had something to question.

* * *

 **Thank you to all of my followers, including the 6 new ones since my last update:** _Khubb, VictoriaJameson, ProngsPadfootMooneyCJC, , Ags2277, and LadybugPanda_ **.**

 **A special shoutout to** _LadybugPanda_ **for commenting. I love you for that, and I'm so grateful that you think what I'm working on is clever and unique! That's what I'm working on, so thank you.**

 **To answer some questions -**

 **Child of Dreams: No, Minta was singing. Erik won't sing much until further chapters.**

 **Kristianna000: Minta is 17, with her 18th birthday just around the corner. We get to party with her in a future chapter!**

 **So guys, tell me what you think! Ask your questions, give me your feedback (good or bad, you can learn from criticism).**


	8. Lessons

**Two in one night. I'm spoiling you all.**

 **See you down below.**

* * *

For nearly two weeks, the only times I left my room were to go to the library, the bathroom, and the kitchen. I hardly spent any time out in the garden, or in any open areas. I kept to myself. Madame Giry did not seem to have a problem with this, as she came by infrequently to do bits of cleaning.

Whether Archer came by or not was not something I was concerned with. My mind constantly went to the voice. The man who had been in my room. To my own shock, I did not feel threatened by him at all. He did not seem like an unsavory type, seeing as he had the chance to take advantage of me and instead chose to give me flowers.

Was I comfortable with the fact that this person could enter my room when he wanted? No.

He had not written to me during that time. I could feel him watching me in the library as I struggled to read the French books (with the assistance of a translator on my phone), but he did not do anything. It was like he only wanted to keep an eye on me.

It was not until Friday that we spoke again. Dad had called and let me know that he was on his way home, which I had to discern between copious amounts of apologizing and _I love you, no really, I do_ 's. To show him that he was in fact forgiven, I had decided to greet him in the foyer. As I passed my bedroom, I noticed a sheet of parchment hanging on the wood.

 **Mademoiselle Minta,**

 **Your room upstairs is prepared for you. Do not worry about moving your things. That has already been handled.**

 **I remain your obedient servant.**

The image of that great dark mass moving my clothes sent an eerie chill down my spine. I cracked the door open to find that sure enough, everything had been stripped from the room. No bed, no bureau, no nothing.

I cautiously went up the stairs. The upper walkway led to door on the far left and the far right, with none in the middle as that was where the theater-auditorium things was. I felt my nerves start to bundle when another note caught my eye down to the right. I approached it as though it was going to bite me and swiftly plucked it off the door.

The note was brief, a commonality now with the stranger's messages. **Here you are, Mademoiselle.** I opened the door and felt the oxygen in my lungs vacate in return for surprise.

The floors were carpeted in a shaggy beige, the walls painted a lovely deep purple. A four-poster bed with draping rested diagonally to the corner it hid in. A large white vanity sat on the wall across from the bed, a little matching stool tucked underneath it. Two big portrait windows flooded the room with moonlight and the greatest view of Paris I had seen to date. Tiny lights outlined the _arrondissement_ and the areas around it. Sitting dead center of one of them was the Eiffel Tower, all aglow in its lights.

A little door just to the left of the vanity snagged my curiosity. Behind the white door was a large bathroom, complete with a tub that rivalled hot tubs, a shower nestled behind floral curtains, and a tiny room for the toilet and sink. It was honestly the cutest bathroom I had ever seen.

"All this is for me?" I whispered on a breath, stepping backwards out of the bathroom.

"Who else, darling?" I turned directly into a hug from my dad, the light scent of his cologne soothing my mind. "Do you like it?"

I threw my arms around him and buried my face in his neck. "I love it, Daddy. Thank you."

He pulled away and drew a key from his pocket. "So you can keep nosy guests out." The cold iron was pressed into my palm. I flipped it around in my hand for a second before sliding it into my pocket.

We walked down to the kitchen, exchanging the usual chit-chat. How was the trip? How were the two weeks alone? Have you done anything cool? Did everything get resolved at that factory? It was the right type of conversation, but it was empty. We were not talking so much as we were just…checking in.

Dad opened several cabinets and drew out three dangerous components: chocolate chips, peanut butter, and powdered sugar. "Daddy, what are you doing?" I asked, slinking over his shoulder.

He looked me right in the eye and said two words that made me laugh. "Muddy Buddies." Slowly he raised a box of chex mix and I knew he was serious. What ensued was a giant bowl filled with food that gave us both a heroin like high.

As Dad and I stuffed our faces, I felt those eyes on me again. I stepped up to one of the cupboards and retrieved a small bowl. "Minta?" Dad leaned back in his chair to look at me better. "What's up?"

"Nothing." I answered quietly as I placed a handful or two in the bowl. I walked over to the hallway and placed the bowl just beyond where the door swung before closing it. Just like that, the feeling was gone. "What do you know about the ghost around here, Dad?"

That sobered him right up. Dad got this very serious look on his face as he pressed the pads of his fingers together. "Not much. He's old, been here since the mansion was built."

"What does he look like?" I sat back in my chair, leaning my elbows on the table.

"I don't know. He's never shown himself to me." Dad leaned in. "Why? Have you seen something?" His eyes were dark, prepared for the worst news, I guess.

The image of the man in my room came back to me. Tall, shrouded in black. "Maybe. I don't know." The conversation tapered off there as a yawn shook my body. "I think I'll head to bed."

Dad wrapped his arms around me and kissed my head, just like he always did when I was little. "I love you, Min-Min."

"I love you too, Daddy. Good night."

Once in my room, door locked and key laying on the vanity, I quickly changed into my pajamas and flopped onto the bed. It sunk a good two inches when I did, smothering me with softness. "I hope you like the treat, sir." I mutter before falling asleep.

The next morning, and I woke to find the bowl sitting on my vanity beside the key. I thought nothing of it and took it back down to the kitchen. Dad was there eating cereal when I arrived.

"Did you take that back to your room?" He asked, shifting his attention between the newspaper and myself.

"Yeah." I was not going to tell him. The room felt a bit awkward with us both silent, the only noise being the running tap water. "Is my tutor going to arrive today?"

Dad folded the newspaper into his lap. "They didn't come while I was gone?"

"Nope." I said, popping the _p_. Opening the fridge, I pulled out an egg and a little pad of butter. I pulled out a little skillet and dropped the butter in first, waiting for it to melt before cracking the egg with one fell swoop and dropping its contents into the frying pan.

Dad muttered something in French before responding. "I'll call them today." A chair scrapped the floor with a loud screech, and I felt Dad's hand rest on my upper arm. "Do you want anything while I'm out? I'm meeting with a couple of executives for lunch, and – "

"Nope, I'm good." I gave him a quick one sided hug. "Have a great day, Daddy."

He rubbed my arm with his thumb a bit before dropping his hand completely. "You too, baby girl. Listen to your tutor, study hard, I love you!" With that, he was gone.

A sense of loneliness filled me. As happy as I was that Dad had a job to keep him busy, the large mansion was a rather desolate place with just me.

And the ghost, but he really did not count in my mind.

I ate my egg quickly before fleeing to the library. Deep was I in the history of the Civil War that I was unprepared for the library door suddenly swinging open.

A short man, only about as high as my shoulder, waddled into the library. " _Mademoiselle_ Dubois, no?" He had a gruff voice, like a person who had smoked too many cigars.

"Please, call me Minta. You're the tutor, right"

" _Oui_ , you will call me Monsieur Bernard." The man shuffled over to the desk on the other side of the room and beckoned me over with a finger. "Are you aware of your schedule?"

I shook my head, which was definitely the wrong choice. Monsieur Bernard quickly went about berating me for my insolence and "American manners" that so horribly offended his sensibilities. With a heavy sigh, I buckled down for the long day ahead of me.

To punish me, Monsieur Bernard forced a book about proper etiquette into my hands. Along with three beginner French, two history, an arithmetic, and a philosophy textbook. Most puzzling of all, he handed me a book on vocal singing. Those ones you find in music stores that have tips on practicing and training your voice. "Monsieur, I appreciate all these books, but why this one?" I asked, handing him the singing one.

He gave it one glance before indignantly huffing. "This building was once a glorious opera house." As he spoke, he made these grand gestures that really demonstrated to me just how short he was. "Monsieur Dubois told me a theater still stands in this hall. Is that correct?"

"Well yes," the memory of being trapped in there made sweat form on my brow, "but – "

"We must fill the place with music!"

The rest of the day was filled with this tiny psychopath ranting and raving about whatever topic I dared to bring up. By the time he left, I was ready to burn each book into cinders. I grabbed the majority of them, barring the vocal and etiquette books as it was physically impossible for me to carry all nine at once. I made a quick trip up to my room, storing the books on the vanity before heading back down for the other two.

Imagine my shock when the vocal book was missing. I searched the whole room for it, throwing pillows across the room and scanning every shelf. The book had taken itself out of the room. "Monsieur, did you take my book?" I asked the air. He was listening, I knew he was. "Well I need it back. Please?"

Behind me was a very loud and sudden drop. I spun around to find the vocal book tied to several sheets of parchment. As I looked over the gift the ghost had left me, I was astounded to see the precise straight lines and perfectly formed music notes. "Thank you." I called out, gathering the music and the books and fleeing up to my room.

Before I entered my room, I heard the faint echo of _you're welcome_ echoing through the halls.

 **Honestly, I don't know why my brain does this. I don't write anything for months, and then I get hit with a muse right when I need to go to sleep because I've got a four hour car drive that I have to make tomorrow.**

 **Also, happy belated birthday** _Child of Dreams_ **. I hope this next year will be a good one for you.**

 **I love you all.**


	9. La Musique de la Nuit

Monsieur Bernard ran me like a dog once I had the books. Every Monday was philosophy and French vocabulary, Wednesday was etiquette and grammar, and Friday was history and conjugation. Yet every single day, the midget would force me into the auditorium to practice scales, both with a piano and my voice. He was insistent that music should fill the house.

The only thing that kept me sane was Monsieur's little gifts. Looking through the vocal singing book revealed that the ghost was rather unhappy with the suggested techniques. Using Monsieur Bernard as a medium, he had given very strict lessons on breathing and posture as well as diction.

His other gift, the music, brought me many a late-night transcribing into a program on my laptop. My piano skills were limited at best, and I did not dare try to play the complex melody at the time. The software could handle the strange twists of the song, but it took nearly a month to fully transcribe as I had to translate the music from faded ink.

When I first looked through the lyrics, the language looked vaguely French. One morning, having been thoroughly bored by his lecture on grammar, I brought the music before him. "I just want to understand what the lyrics say." I told him, clasping my hands behind my back so he could not see how jittery my fingers were becoming.

He scanned over it, peering at it through hooded eyes, before huffing and slamming the parchment on the desk. "This is not funny, mademoiselle."

"I…I wasn't trying to be funny."

"Then why hand me a blank piece of paper?" He quickly launched into how such behavior was not tolerable in proper society before throwing the parchment into a waste basket. As soon as he was gone, I fished it out and set about straightening it as best I could. I kept quiet about it after that, working on it during the night when I would not be interrupted.

It was that day that Monsieur began playing tricks. For the most part, they were harmless things like stealing all the chalk, reorganizing papers, or replacing coffee with, how had Bernard described it, paint water?

However, Monsieur could also be very disruptive and aggressive. One Tuesday morning, having woken up with a strained voice from the day before, I begged Monsieur Bernard to be laxer on the training that day. He, however, was furious at the thought and ranted about how training every day would traditional to the house's origins. His face turned even redder when he went to play the scales I had to copy only to find that the piano was terribly out of tune. It took a piano tuner nearly an hour to fix the problem, in which time a mysterious cup of mint herbal tea appeared at the desk of the library.

A different day, I found it too hard to stay awake. I had been up very late the night before transcribing the music, and Monsieur Bernard would not stand for his pupil to fall asleep during one of his lectures on the importance of…Rome, I think it was? Maybe Greece? Either way, he punished me with more scales, which did nothing to help my yawning. It was in the middle of a C minor scale that I heard a loud _crack_ and looked just in time to see a sand bag break against the piano bench right next to Monsieur Bernard. I could not help but glance up and look for other sandbags, of which there were none, while my tutor set into a panic. He quickly went home, allowing me to nap and continue working on the music.

The most unsettling trick Monsieur played was shutting off all the lights in the auditorium while Monsieur Bernard was walking about the stage. I had botched some scales, and he was mid rant when the lights were all cut off at once. I refused to scream, instead reaching for my phone and using its light as a way to cut through the darkness. How glad I was to do so, as Monsieur Bernard would have walked off the stage. He was two steps from injury.

After the blackout, Monsieur Bernard began coming by less and less. He soon only came Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, giving me Tuesdays and Thursdays to do other activities. By that, I mean work on that software. Dad convinced me to go to some nearby parks. He even talked about going to the zoo, but he fell through on that.

It was not until long past dark one spring night that I finished my project. I leaned back and looked over the notes that littered my computer screen. Now began the fun part, the language. I had dabbled in it a bit, and Monsieur Bernard had proven to be no help and so I held off on it until the very end. Armed with a rudimentary French skill and an online translator, I set about learning what the song had to say.

Once I was done, I pressed the play button. As the music began, I scanned over the words again. The piano softly sung out the introduction before guiding me into its mysterious nature.

" _Nighttime sharpens,_

 _Heightens each sensation_

 _Darkness wakes,_

 _And stirs imagination_

 _Silently the senses_

 _Abandon their defenses_

 _Helpless to resist the notes I write_

 _For I compose the music of the night_."

Each note was guided by the music, building and flowing with one another.

" _Slowly, gently_

 _Night unfurls its splendor_

 _Grasp it, sense it,_

 _Tremulous and tender_

 _Hearing is believing,_

 _Music is deceiving,_

 _Hard as lightning_

 _Soft as candlelight_

 _Dare you trust the music of the night?_ "

I could feel eyes on me. A part of me knew it had to be Monsieur, but the other prayed that Dad had come home early or that Monsieur Bernard had forgotten something and came to retrieve it.

" _Close your eyes_

 _For your eyes will only tell the truth_

 _and the truth isn't what you want to see._ " I obeyed the song, letting myself fall into the darkness as the melody sang on.

 _"In the dark it is easy to pretend_

 _That the truth is what it ought to be_

 _Softly, deftly_

 _Music shall caress you._ " A cold sensation covered my hand. I dared not open my eyes, like a spellbound slave to the music Monsieur had given me.

 _"Hear it, feel it_

 _Secretly possess you."_ My voice died away, but there was still a voice singing. Its rich tenor rung beautifully with the false piano, blending in a way that I had never heard before. I felt myself being drawn closer to the figure. Not only did I not fight, I craved the touch.

 _"Open up your mind let your fantasies unwind_

 _In this darkness that you cannot fight_

 _The darkness of the music of the night_

 _Close your eyes, start a journey to a strange world_

 _Leave all thoughts of the world you knew before_

 _Close your eyes and let music set you free_

 _Only then can you belong to me."_ The man held me fast against himself, a gloved hand (gloved I was sure, for the feeling of it was akin to leather) on my cheek while the other fastened his arm across my back. His voice was right in my ear, yet I could not feel his breath.

 _"Floating, falling_

 _sweet intoxication_

 _Touch me, trust me_

 _Savor each sensation."_ I knew something was wrong about this, and my brain struggled against my heart's desire for the song. My body's need to be close to another. It did not matter that I had no idea who it was, because it was someone.

 _"Let the dream begin let your darker side give in_

 _To the power of the music that I write_

 _The power of the music of the night._ "

Finally finding the strength, which I did not know I had such low supply of, I opened my eyes to see the man beside me. The first thing I noticed was his eyes. They were like ember, which was both beautiful and impossible. His skin was pale, too pale to be healthy, with black hair to contrast it. All in all, he would have appeared as a gentleman if not for the white mask that covered almost his whole face, leaving only part of the mouth exposed. Still, there was some handsomeness to be found in the stranger.

My mind grew heavy as a distant bell began to toll. Past midnight, pressing on to two. I leaned my head against the man and closed my eyes. My feet left the floor as he swept me up into his arms and carried me. His steps left no audible sounds, but the bobbing of his body told me he was walking. No doors creaked as they open, no stairs groaned under the weight, and yet I found myself being placed gently onto the sinking surface of my bed.

" _You alone can make my song take flight._ " A jolt ran down my spine as those cold fingers brushed hair from my face. " _Help me make the music of the…_ " His voice trailed away. For a moment, I thought he was gone. Until a very soft and gentle _night_ came like a cold breeze, prickling my skin with goosebumps. It was that final note that pushed me into the darkness of sleep.

My dreams were consumed with the white mask, not the man, following me about like it itself had life. When I awoke, I was surprised not to find it on the end of my bed. Gazing at me without any eyes.

But it was not there. Nor was it behind the many other crevices and doors that led me to the kitchen. The entire morning went by without Monsieur, just as it always did. That was unacceptable to me. Something had happened the night before, and I needed to know what.

 _If that music can make me so weak,_ I thought as I marched into the theater, _then what's to stop someone else from using it?_

"Monsieur, I need to talk to you." My voice echoed wildly off the walls, filled with a bravado that I could not seem to harness myself. With long strides, I walked up to the stage and hopped up onto the old wood. "It's about last night."

The pause seemed endless and stifling. I looked around, expecting him to reveal himself once more or to at least speak. Instead what I received was a note fluttering to the ground from somewhere on the cat walks. I wasted no time falling to my knees and grabbing it like it was the new Bible.

 ** _What about, Mademoiselle?_**

"Oh no," I felt on the verge of both laughing and crying, "you don't get to just write it out. I want to hear you speak. You were more than willing to last night." The message was crushed in my hands, ink staining my skin as it transferred itself over.

Something felt very wrong to me. Kneeling at the front of the stage, I could have sworn I had been in this exact position before. It was sudden, but the feeling of eyes on me escalated. I looked out at what I knew were empty chairs and saw specters from my memory sitting out there, whispering to one another and glaring at me.

I crawled back behind a set of curtains, where their eyes could not follow. His remained. My chest felt heavy, every breath too shallow to sustain my heart and brain. _Her fleshy hand grasped my shoulder – stop it Aminta-Rose, she's not real! Get a hold of yourself! – and drew me backwards sharply._ Even without the specific shoes on, I can feel the tiny heels pinching my toes and rubbing against the edges of my foot. Dots appeared in my vision as I heard the words she had whispered into my ear that night. _If you don't quit being a fu-_

"Mademoiselle."

The dots cleared away, the voices fled, the images returned to their hellish holes in my memories. His voice was dry, snapping as he said my name. Had he called out to me before now? I could not be sure.

"Are you alright?" They were softer now, like a father to a child who had been injured. I could almost imaging Dad kneeling beside me with his arms around me like a shield.

My knees nearly give out as I stand up, but I refuse to stay on the ground. I brush off imaginary dust. "Whatever happened last night was a fluke." I declared before walking out of that theater, head held high despite the embarrassed red that colored my cheeks.

* * *

 _A lot has happened this chapter. What does it all mean?_

 _...Actually, I don't know. I was just writing and all this came out. We'll all be surprised on where Erik and Aminta-Rose take this._

 _What are your thoughts on Monsieur Bernard, Erik, and Aminta-Rose? Where do you think it is all going? Tell me what you think in the reviews!_

 _To answer a question from kaitlin2515: Is Archer going to be a wannabe-Raoul? You'll see as the story progresses. I can tell you this, Erik does not like how much time Minta and Archer will be spending together._

 _To all my faithful readers and obedient servants, thank you for your patience. I hope to have more (hopefully higher quality) chapters out before April. We'll see._

 ** _I remain your obedient servant and friend,_**

 ** _E.V_**


	10. Monsieur

Part of me panicked when I handed over my music. As I watched Mademoiselle Dubois leaf through the parchment, I could not help but smile a bit. The fire of a musician flickered in her eyes which hungrily consumed the notes inked before her.

Her dedication surprised me greatly. No, she was not particularly dedicated to Monsieur Bernard and his unyielding lectures. Thinking of him made my eyes narrow. That man had the gall to ignore my work and claim the page blank. I watched him attempt to teach Mademoiselle Dubois the basics of the piano and singing. His technique reminded me vaguely of a man who the opera managers had hired to teach the chorus girls.

I chased him away too.

Some days, Mademoiselle Dubois seemed entertained by my tricks. Others, she looked around like a frightened mouse searching for the source of a dangerous rattling.

Late one evening, as the young mistress of the house sat in her room working on various little tasks, I found myself pacing the hallway to the library. My eyes flitted from one painting to the next, needing not by the moon's light to view each piece.

I remembered each one. The weight of the canvas was still fresh in my mind. For nearly a century and a quarter, all I had could feel was the weight of such things. Canvas, parchment, odd tools and wood. Never another person. Whenever I reached out, all I felt was air. It would be maddening if I were not already insane.

My muse had been silent during the duration of Monsieur Dubois's stay, and it had not been rattled into speech by his daughter's arrival. A familiar sense of frustration took my soul. The same would come when music had escaped me.

A peculiar sound floated down the hallway. Its source was none other than Mademoiselle Dubois's room, and so I followed it. The late hour should have had the young woman asleep, but as I stepped through the door, I found her in nothing but a pair of shorts and a loose shirt. Her hair was pulled into a sloppy ponytail, hairs falling out and brushing her nose.

She was solely consumed with her computer – laptop, she had called it before – while those little speakers were crammed in her ears. The words that came from her mouth were not English, nor anything based in Latin from my knowledge. It was beautiful regardless of its language. Her jaw moved without much command, a second thought to her.

The morning was when I formally met her tutor. Monsieur Dubois certainly had some nerve to bring in Warren Bernard without consulting me. I observed the small man as he walked in circles raving about some slight she had caused him, sitting on a nearby stack of books. The moment that caught my attention was when she flinched.

Monsieur Bernard had raised his hand to the sky. Mademoiselle immediately shrunk back, not enough to silence her tutor but enough for me to rise to my feet. I followed the midget as he stormed off to the theater – _my theater, dammit_ – with the young woman close behind. Her head was slung low, eyes focused at the tips of her shoes.

He forced the silent girl to the front of the stage before stalking towards the piano. A piano that he soon found to be out of tune. It brought me great pleasure to interrupt him in little ways. Soon those were not enough. My tricks had to become more violent because they had to capture his attention and let her slip away.

The only reason I did not kill Monsieur Bernard was because Mademoiselle Dubois begged me not to. She had written a quick message to me, and would often look around wide eyed if she perceived something was amiss. Little Giry had that same panicked look in her eye when she and…when she and the other chorus girls danced on my stage.

Soon my pastime was staying near the young Aminta-Rose Dubois. It was not something that interrupted my life. The last time I had slept or eaten anything was in 1870. Even the little treat that she and her father had made was given to the dogs on the street. They appreciated it more than a phantom.

The bell tolled, crying out that the first hour of the day had passed, and yet Mademoiselle Dubois and I sat in the library. She was typing and clicking away at her laptop, and I was watching the city glow through a narrow window hidden away by the bookshelves.

My heart shuddered as I heard the music. My music. The very substance that had fueled my mortal life. I turned to watch as her eyes were lit once more with a musician's passion. Her laptop was producing the melody, each note with lifeless singularity, each blending together to create a beautiful but dead sound. Her eyes scanned every line, watched each measure as it passed.

And then she sang.

It was not like my angel's. To be honest, she did not sound very different than when I trapped her in my theater. Her voice was still raw, soft, and utterly enticing. The part of me that had been drawn to my first student drew me to this girl. I slipped closer to her, unencumbered by objects strewn about the room.

Her eyes sealed themselves, obedient to the music's demands. She turned herself to face me. I knew she did not know what she was doing. Neither was I. Instinct drove me to reach out to her hand.

I could touch her.

An eternity passed between the next notes as I stared at our hands. Her fingers were caught in my clutches, yet all she did was curl them to take hold of my black gloved hand. The gentle grip seemed to radiate enough heat to reach beneath the leather and into my skin. She was so warm.

I expected her to open her eyes in a panic, but those gentle blue irises remained hidden behind dark lashes. Her voice vanished, and I filled the space. Each word I sang relaxed her more and more. A smile formed on her lips.

She looked so at peace. Her head tilted to the side just a bit, as though she was listening to nothing but the music.

My music. My voice.

Her body pressed against mine as I ensnared her. I braced her with my arm, soaking up the warmth that she gave to me. A tear found its way off her lashes and down her cheek, doomed by my hand as I wiped it away with my thumb.

It felt odd, feeling another human being again. The last woman that I had held in my arms…near a century and a quarter ago, the way I held young Aminta-Rose now would have seen us both the targets of gossip. But here, in the secluded library, we were the only two people in existence.

The voice of conscience whispered hateful things in my ear. _She will open her eyes and despise you. Just like back then. Nothing has changed. You are still a monster, and this young woman will see it in just a moment._ My grip slacked a bit, but not enough to fully release her.

When her eyes opened, it was not in desperation or panic. They did not snap open like a person under hypnosis. A pair of little cracks appeared, slowly growing into two hooded eyes. Being this close to her, I could easily see the flecks of green that pitted themselves around her pupils. Our gazes matched.

She did not look at me with fear, scrutiny, or disgust. The light shone off her eyes and gaze her a look of wonder and curiosity. Her mouth opened slightly, but no words came out. Every movement she made was slow, tranquil. The tolling of bells drew her gaze out to the window, yet the sound did not disturb the small smile and faint blush.

It took all my strength not to falter as I felt her hand slid under my jacket. Her fingers clasped around the cotton of my shirt just below my heart. She stepped closer to me as she laid her head against my chest. I had to wonder if she could hear my heart. Or if I even had a heart beat to hear. Her knees gave out, and if it had not been for my reflexes she would have struck her head on a pile of books. Instead she laid in my arms, nestled against me as her breathing evened out to that of someone asleep.

 _If Monsieur Dubois comes to inspect any noise, this will be nearly impossible to explain._ I thought to myself. Stepping up to the wall, I attempted to walk through it as I had grown accustom to. When that succeeded, I was not sure whether to be glad I still did not have to deal with doors or upset at the fact that this new ability was selective.

I carried the young mistress to her bed, laying her down before finishing the last notes of the song she had transcribed. My hand drew itself across her jaw, filling me with pure delight. If nothing else, I could touch her.

She was less excited about it.

The next morning, she threw open the door to my theater. I asked what was wrong which only seemed to fuel her anger more. She crushed the note in her hands before freezing in position. With speed that could fall behind a lazy pond, she turned her face to look out at the empty seats. I looked, expecting to see her father or Elliana shadowing the doorway.

Mademoiselle Dubois crawled like a dog behind a set of curtains, drew her knees to her chest, pressed her face down into her legs. Her sobs echoed in the theater. I knelt beside her and reached for her hand, but I stopped short of the way.

She was muttering something, too garbled for me to fully understand. It sounded a bit like "I'm sorry."

Despite my calling her name, she remained in her state of desolation. When she finally responded, she turned a bright shade of red before rushing away. I stayed behind a moment.

That was familiar to me. A young dancer back in the Opera. She had failed miserably in front of the ballet and was suspended from the performance. That same pose was how I had found her, down in the first basement behind an elephant.

Her story ended with her on the end of a rope, not of my own doing.

I rushed after Aminta-Rose. She had not returned to the library where her laptop still lay, instead collapsing on her bed. The light revealed her tear streaks to me. I knelt beside the bed and took her hand, exactly how Madame Giry had taken that young dancer's hand.

She did not wake. Her warm breath strike the glove and bled its way down to my hand. I was unaware of her other hand sneaking a grab at my shirt sleeve until it was too late. I was trapped in her grasp, her head burrowed into my palm.

 _Greeting my readers._

 _I'm sorry about how long it took to update. It seems that the less work I have to do, the less writing I can get to do._

 _Thank you everyone who has followed, favorited, and commented on the story. I appreciate the patience that you, my dear readers, have with me._

 _I remain your obedient servant,_

 _E.V_


	11. Impossible

**I know I have viciously denied you all for some months, but I have a new chapter. It's short, but it should sate you guys while I work on the next chapter. Enjoy, and I'll see you down below.**

* * *

She did not seem to remember the incident. The very next day, Aminta-Rose was back to her studies and her routines as though nothing had happened. I kept my eye on her as well as her father, who did not seem to suspect anything out of the ordinary had occurred. The only major difference I could see was that she actively sought out her father's presence, even if they would not talk. She was persistent about keeping those "earbuds" lodged in her skull regardless of company.

Monsieur Bernard continued to make his presence unwelcome in my house, though it seemed that his pupil had adjusted very well to him. I had to say, she picked up the French language quickly under his tutelage. Probably had something to do with his numerous rants.

Madame Giry did her best to avoid contact with the Dubois child. That was very clear. If Aminta-Rose entered a room that the old matron was cleaning, she would simply leave and wait until the girl was bored and left before continuing her chores. It seemed to work for the both of them, and I saw no real problem with the arrangement.

It did not slip my notice that she would spend several hours out in the gardens. Under naïve pretenses, I assumed that she enjoyed the roses and lilacs, the _muguets_ and the irises. She would often leave with her lips pursed and her eyes hooded, lost in the musings of her own mind. It was a rare day that she returned without a smile painting her face and a faint blush peeking through.

One day, while the sun shone through colored leaves all across the estate, I followed her. She slipped out the front door whereas I kept to the confines of the house, gliding from window to window as she walked across the grass. Resting on her arm was a basket, filled with treats I had watched her prepare. Three sandwiches. I had never seen her finish more than one and a half.

I faltered as I watched her approach two men who had been kneeling in one of the flower beds. One was rather old, Madame Giry's husband. Mathis, I remembered. He had been a handsome youth, but he was now reduced to a thin man, frail enough that a strong wind could blow him over.

Beside him knelt a face I had not seen in many years. Every logical part of my brain kept reminding me that there was no way it was him. _He has been dead longer than the house has stood._ Yet that loud, shrill voice screamed at the way his hand met hers as he took a sandwich.

 _Insolent boy! Bastard! Why is he here? Why is he_ alive _? Why is he near Aminta-Rose?_ My fists tightened until the nails would have been cutting into my palms. Her eyes were shining in the light as she talked with them. My chest nearly burst when she knelt beside that perfect copy and joined in the work around the roses. Mathis removed himself to the bench and took up giving orders while _that boy_ and Aminta-Rose rooted through the roses and drew out rotted stalks.

She winced and drew her thumb to her mouth. My eyes narrowed as the boy immediately reached out and took her hand in his own. He traced lines in her hand as he looked at the wounded finger. _Let go of her. Let go. Let_ go _._ The three began laughing together, and Mathis produced a small strip from his pocket. She applied it herself, shaking off both of the men beside her, and continued to laugh.

Until she looked up.

Blue met amber and all was still for a second. She shot straight up and, having given some sort of excuse to the men, ran around to the front of the house. I kept my eyes on that _perfect specimen_ , pouring all the heat that had generated in my body into the glare. He shook ever so slightly. A smirk fell upon my lips. _He can feel it. He knows I'm watching._

The _thumps_ of muted footsteps came upon me. Aminta-Rose. I stepped back against the wall, nestled into the shadow. She shot around the corner. Our eyes met briefly. She walked past me as she scanned the hallway. There was no sound but the short breaths that came out of her in huffs. Her face was slightly flushed, the light in her eyes shining just a smidge brighter.

It faded as she walked past again. Her head hung down, her lips pursed and her eyes darker. She had not found what she wanted. Casting one last look down the walls, she sighed and rounded the corner again. _Was it me she was looking for? No, no it couldn't have been. She's smart enough to know not to do that._

She returned to the men outside, much to my dismay. I did notice something. She was drawing away from them, sitting further from both the young man and the window. She wrapped her arms around her body like she had felt a stinging chill, and when that boy tried to offer her his coat she rejected it and smiled at him.

That smile. It was not organic. Her eyes were not crinkled at the corner, her cheeks were not rosy at the tops. Her mouth strained to meet the expectation the line presented. It was not her smile, but the smile of the automatons that he had worked with so often in the past.

That night she was silent. I listened for the sound of her machine clicking, or the invisible person who talked her down into relaxation and rest, but neither could be heard. Her father was already snoring at the other end of the house, so I decided it was not too dangerous to peek in and check on her.

She was sitting up against the head rest, head buried in her knees once more. "Aminta-Rose? Are you quite alright?" I whispered, letting my voice echo from wall to wall.

Her head shot up, eyes staring directly ahead of her as though she could pierce the veil and lay her eyes on me once more. That fire was snatched away and she compressed herself once more. "Am I finally going crazy?" She breathed, quiet and personal and not meant for me.

Yet how I longed for it. For the whispers of trust. The confidence of the innocent…

She was not _her_ , there were very few similarities to start with _._ _She_ would never have questioned her sanity, going so far as to delude herself into thinking a demon could be an angel. But this creature, this unusual specimen, she did no such thing. The few times she looked up, her eyes shivered from side to side as though she could catch her sanity in the air around her.

I took a breath. _You don't have to do this._ That infernal voice crooned. _It's as easy as staying silent. She'll never know._ As we stood parallel, I felt a deeper breath fill my lungs.

"No, not yet." The words fell out before I had a chance to really think about them.

Her head lifted again, and her eyes fell on me. Truly fell on me. _She can see me. I should go, it isn't decent to be alone with a young woman._ Despite my thoughts, or perhaps in spite of them, I remained still as did she. Muscles taunt, she unraveled herself and slowly edged off her bed.

 _Lord, what have I done? I need to leave._ One foot, then two touched the ground so softly that it rivalled a cat's paw.

 _She will revile you. Run, now!_ Her hand reached out. It touched my glove. Heat bloomed immediately, taking hold of my whole body.

There was no escape now. I closed my eyes and waited for the inevitable. _What have I done?_

* * *

 **Hello, duckies.**

 **I'm so sorry it's taken so long to post again. My muse is floating in and out, which is no fun for anyone. I did manage to buckle down and finish this, though it's not as long as I would have liked it to be. Anyway, I want to have another chapter up by next month, but I'm not going to make any promises. I love you all! I promise!**

 **PM me any questions, ideas, thoughts, et cetera. And don't forget to leave a comment and follow for more!**

 **Je t'aime,**

 **Eliyah**


	12. To Learn

I could not believe my eyes.

There he was. Tall, dressed in shadows just like that night. Just like when I spotted him through the window, with a stark white mask that covered his whole face rather than leaving the mouth exposed.

As I neared him, his eyes gained a wild look. It reminded me of a dog I had encountered as a child, one that lost its head whenever I approached its yard. Part of me resisted as I stretched out my hand to his. Once we touched, his eyes closed and ice filled my veins despite the heat rising in my face.

Was it because there was a stranger in my room? Were we really strangers at all? My mind froze at the question. He knew quite a bit about me, I was sure. Between the times I felt eyes on me and the surety that Dad had told him things, he must have known so much about me. The complete disadvantage, since I knew nothing of him.

My mouth moved before I could even stop and think the question over. "What's your name?" I felt stupid asking, but it was one of the many things that had been hidden from me.

His eyes snapped open. My hand was torn from his in a fast tug. He stepped away and straightened up more, puffing out his chest and glowering at me. As quickly as he had appeared, he was gone and I was left standing in the middle of my room like an idiot. My hand hovered for a few seconds more before falling limp at my side.

I fished my laptop out from my desk drawers and cursed it as it took forever to load. Fingers flying from key to key, I typed in the password and pulled up Skype. Not a minute later, the speakers began to sing the ringtone that I needed the most. I answered the call and stared into the black pixelated screen as the cameras woke up.

On my screen formed the nose that turned up at the tip, the wide mouthed smile, and the bright green eyes that I had been so used to seeing every day. "Does my screen deceive me, or is that Aminta-Rose?"

A small smile formed as she beamed at me. "Hey Kelly. How are things in Cardend?"

"Dull, as usual. The only interesting person moved to France, so I've been fighting Mom and Dad about going to Manhattan for a weekend." She sighed and laid her head against the table she was sitting at, showing the blonde roots of her currently dull red hair. "Honestly, what's the point of living so close to the biggest city in America if you're never able to go?" Now she propped her head up against her fists and she pursed her lips. Looking into the camera, she sat up a little straighter and leaned close. "Minta, are you okay?"

A tear slid down my face as she asked, making me aware of my watery eyes. "Yeah, I'm fine." I ran the palm of my hand under each eye, pushing the tears out to the edges of my eyes. "Honestly, I think that I'm slowly evolving into a crybaby."

"Wouldn't that be devolution," a new voice joined in, "since we start off as crybabies?" In leaned a face that had the same nose that sloped down and turned up just at the tip, only this head entertained a smaller mouth and a more squared off chin. Isaac pulled up a chair right behind his sister and flashed a peace sign to the camera, one I reciprocated.

Kelly shoved her brother away from her shoulder. "Shoo, demon spawn! She doesn't want to look at your face."

"Of course she does. I'm the most handsome face she's seen all day." He said with a lopsided grin.

I quirked an eyebrow and donned a smirk. "Are you now? And how would you know that? Maybe all French boys are super hot and I just can't get enough."

"And how many of them have you seen?"

Heat rose in my cheeks as I thought of the only three French males I had encountered. "Enough." I muttered, crossing my arms and looking away.

Kelly and Isaac both laughed at me, making me smile. "So how long until you're a citizen, anyway?" Kelly propped herself up on her hands again, making Isaac fight to be noticed around his sister. "Is it easier with your dad being a native and all?"

All I could do was shrug. Dad was handling most of that, hardly telling me anything when it came to the progress of my citizenship. "He'll tell me when it's finalized." I finally said. "How's the school year going?"

Kelly groaned while Isaac moaned out something that sounded vaguely like "can it be over yet?" Both snapped up with rabid enthusiasm as they asked about Monsieur Bernard and the lessons from Hades.

I told them about the unfortunate luck that had followed him around at the beginning, leaving Monsieur out as I did not want them asking too much about him. Everything just sounded like one terrible accident after another.

"I wish Mom would homeschool me." Kelly said quietly, glancing out of the corner of her eye. "At least then Amber and Regina wouldn't be able to bother me as much."

"What are those two doing now?" I asked, moving the laptop from my bed up onto my legs as I leaned back on my pillows. Kelly went into full on story mode about how the girls made sure to always talk about New York City and all the great things to do and see, then looking out the corner of their eyes and, upon seeing her, made sure to note how many times they had stood in the Statue of Liberty or gone up into the Empire State Building.

After her, it was Isaac's turn to talk about the coaches finally letting him join the football team and how he threw the touchdown that scored the school their first win of the season. "Max says if I keep doing that, they'll make me team captain next year." He was brimming with joy as he thought about it.

"And it's doing wonders for me, too." Kelly interrupted, getting the stink eye from her younger brother. "Some of the other girls are crowding around me. I know they're just trying to get at Isaac, but it feels kind of cool to be the middle man."

"So do you have many friends now?"

The question made me freeze and my brain race to find an answer. I had not met many people outside of the staff of the house. Even during the few walks Dad and I had been on, I did not really meet anyone new and exciting. Some of the walks were hardly memorable. When I thought of friends, Archer immediately came to mind. Monsieur followed after.

"Yeah, a couple."

Kelly began to ask questions when I heard the front door. It creaked open and closed with a loud thud. I turned back to Kelly and asked her to repeat the question. It was all in vain, however, as a knock at the door alerted me that Dad was coming in.

He cracked the door open slightly before yelling very loudly "Are you decent?" Upon hearing the confirmation that I was in fact wearing clothes, he entered the room and dropped his briefcase at the door. "Afternoon, pumpkin." After planting a kiss on my head, he looked at the screen and grinned. "Hello Kelly, Isaac. How are you two doing?"

"Pretty good, Mister Dubois." Kelly said while Isaac yelled "Why did you make her put clothes on?" Kelly punched him in the arm, looked at me, and punched him again.

Dad laughed as I turned beet red. "Do you mind if I borrow Min-Min for a second?" Just when I thought my face could not turn any redder. It was Kelly and Isaac's turn to once again laugh at me while nodding.

We all said good bye and hung up. Dad sat on the bed as I closed the laptop. "What's up?"

He wrung his hands together before clasping them together. The crow's feet at the edges of his eyes seemed deeper, darker than they usually were. The twinkle that usually resided in his eyes had faded, leaving them cold. "We'll be hosting some guests for a few days. Coworkers of mine, and some of their children perhaps." He announced. The air in the room became scarce. Every breath was like breathing through a straw. I could feel Monsieur, though he was invisible to me. "It's unavoidable, so I will try to make their time actually on the property as minimal as I can. They'll be here over the weekend." He turned to face me, staring at me with those weathered grey eyes. It seemed he was taking time to look me over as much as I was doing to him. I noted his slumped shoulders, his drooping head.

"Have you informed Monsieur?" I asked, scooting closer to him.

Dad nodded, the movement slow. "He's not happy, but he's promised not to cause trouble." He covered my hand with his own. "They'll want to meet you." A shiver ran up my spine and I pulled my hand away. I moved back until I was pressed up against my head rest. The air was harder to breathe now, with that strain of getting into my body more restrictive. "You'd only need to come down for lunch and dinner. I managed to convince them all that hotels would be a better plan that staying here. I don't have enough rooms for them all." He forced a smile on his face, but it did nothing to put one on mine. "Minta, please. I'm only asking you to come down for an hour at most. Thirty minutes for lunch, thirty for dinner. I won't make you come to breakfast, or do whatever they choose to do."

My heart had begun to throb faster and faster, to the point that it hurt. Already I could feel eyes on me, hear the whispers of judgement and disdain, and it made my eyes fill with tears again. _I really am becoming a crybaby._ I thought glumly as I let the tears drip off my eyelashes and onto the sheets. "Daddy, please." I whispered. He moved closer and gathered me in his arms as though I was no more than a babe again. Fingers worked their way through my hair and rubbed circles into my scalp as I pressed my face into his shoulder. "Can't you tell them I'm sick and they need to stay away? Can't you do anything?" Instead of talking, he simply kept rubbing my head until my heart had returned to its normal beating pattern.

"I can't cancel this." He sighed and whispered something that I could not catch. "It's necessary for me to schmooze my bosses and coworkers. They need to know that I'm serious about continuing to work for them." His voice was taunt, yet still had the sigh of resignation on it. We sat like that for who knows how long, Dad just calming me down as I listened to the steady slow sound of his heart beating.

The air was easier to breathe. All around me, color was slowly growing again. When did the color leave the room? When had the light joined it?

Dinner past quickly in total silence, and Dad escorted me up to my room just to ask the question: "Are you going to be okay?"

I nodded before sliding behind the door and closing it. Pressing my head against the heavy wood, I felt the worry begin to build again. A performance of a lifetime, and I knew how badly I would botch it. Her voice entered my mind again. _They'll see you for what you are, you disgusting little parasite._ My chest tightened.

"You're wrong." My whisper broke the silence, but only for a second. Soon the room returned to the obliterating quiet that made my heart too loud and the blood rushing through my veins a source of maddening noise. It sloshed about as I walked, leaving me feeling sick. The sun was just setting as I changed out into my pajamas and crawled under the blankets. The quiet allowed my thoughts to hum with boisterous energy. The most prominent was, of course, the countdown to Friday. _Two_ _days._ Two days until I played the role of the happy, well-adjusted seventeen year old. Forty-eight hours before the broken little girl had to be hidden in the closet and her cries ignored.

For the first time that day, I could not find the tears to cry. She had plenty of tears poured over her.

After waking up for the eighth or ninth time that night, I finally just relented to my need for a distraction and grabbed my phone. Flicking through the playlists that lived in my music file, I found the shortest series of songs and absently pressed play. A quiet violin began to play, performing a simple lullaby that Dad had played for me a few times as a child.

It surprised me when a second violin joined in. That was not in the recording. Slowly turning, I opened my eyes and held back a gasp. Monsieur was at the end of my bed, a violin nestled between his chin and shoulder. His eyes were hooded as he drew the bow across the strings and his fingers skipped about the strings, changing the pitch to harmonize with the recorded melody.

As the song ended, he turned his attention to me. "I didn't mean to wake you." He whispered, his voice sounding in my right ear and sending goosebumps up my arm.

"You didn't."

"It's important to sleep, Ma'mseille."

"I know."

He stood still, watching me with those cat-like eyes. I remained just as still, craning my neck a touch as to watch him. "Would you like to sit down?" It surprised me when I broke the silence.

He shook his head, his velvet black hair barely moving as he did so. "I ought not get comfortable. You will surely fall asleep soon."

Yielding, I sat up. The blankets pooled in my lap and covered my exposed thighs, though it did nothing for my bare shoulders. My tank top bunched at the front, and I tugged it higher. "Don't count on it." I leaned my head back and blinked the little fuzzy bits of light out of my eyes. "My brain's too active to sleep right now."

There was a soft clatter, and the hum that comes from a string instrument as it strikes something. "Why is that?" I looked to the end of the bed only to see that he had moved closer. He was now aligned with my toes, if I were to stretch them out a bit. A sigh and a shrug told more than words could have.

My glance shifted to his gloves. "Do you always wear those?" I asked.

He looked at the black leather and seemed to contemplate them for a moment. Wordless, he pulled at the fingers and revealed pale hands that seemed to almost gleam in the moonlight. The gloves were laid on my dresser and he stretched out his fingers. "They're just terribly comfortable. In my day, a gentleman would not be caught dead without a good pair of gloves." He snatched up his gloves once more and put them back on.

"When was that, anyway?" My tongue found its way between my teeth after the question left my mouth. I might as well have asked him when he died. _Could he even remember that?_ I wondered, watching his eyes as he searched mine.

Creeping closer, he now stood adjacent with my hips. "1891," came the answer.

"Why are ghosts always from the eighteen hundreds?" I mused. "Why are there not more ghosts who do disco moves and say 'groovy'?"

He chuckled, a sound I had not heard before. It was low and rumbling, like distant thunder. "Who could take such an apparition seriously?"

I looked at him and smiled. "Good point." A chair scraped the ground as he drew up a chair, sitting where my fingers could barely reach him. We sat quietly for a minute, both staring at things on the opposite side of the room.

"Do you like the room?" He asked, our eyes meeting briefly.

"Yeah, it's much better than what I had back in Cardend." I thought back to that closet and shuddered. "Did you do all this by yourself?"

He shook his head, keeping his back straight as he stared at the wood just behind me. "Your father did most of the work. I only helped after he explained you were coming." I hummed and we returned to silence.

"Where did you learn to sing?"

He bristled at the question, and his eyes snapped open once again. My heart dropped at the idea of him leaving again, I rushed to cover up the flub. "Sorry, I don't know where that come from. Don't worry about it, it doesn't matter."

It was a minute before he spoke again. "My mother." There was a bitter cold in the title. I grimaced, and expected the silence to return. To my surprise, he elaborated. "She was a brilliant opera singer, and I would listen in on her lessons. I taught myself what I could. It was never enough."

My shoulders slumped. "I understand that perfectly." The sentence was meant to be quiet, but with no competition for volume in the room, I knew that he had heard me well enough. We sat comfortably in the quiet of the mansion, or at least I did. I had a thousand questions, but I did not want to scare him away by asking them. He did not say anything, thus I assumed he had nothing to ask. In that quiet, the sounds of the city were just barely visible.

My body began to weigh heavily, dragging me down in to the sheets. Monsieur placed the hair back and pulled the topmost blankets over my shoulders and nestled the flyaway sheets under the mattress, resulting in a little cocoon for me. "Thank you." I whispered, giving what smile I could.

He nodded, and I could barely make out the crinkling of his eyes in what could have been a smile as well if it was not for the featureless mask. "You're welcome. Sleep well, mademoiselle."

"Good night, Monsieur."

I noticed him stop, and I adjusted my position a bit so I could see him better. "What's wrong?"

He stood very still, like a statue, or a cat perched on a fence post. "Erik. My name is Erik, mademoiselle."

"Erik." I repeated, yawning afterwards. "Good night" _Yawn_ "Erik."

"Good night, Minta."

He had fled long before sleep finally claimed me. The name kept rolling around in my head as I lulled off. _Erik. Such a normal name. I thought for sure his name would be Archibald or something._ Not long after, I fell into the dreamless sleep that I preferred, and the Second Day had begun all too soon.

* * *

 **You all must be losing your minds.** **Yes, I posted twice in one week. That's what happens when the muse strikes.**

 **The thought plickens. Strangers in the house, plus the bonding on Minta and Erik. And she finally learned his name! :D**

 **Anyway, I want to thank all of you who follow, favorite, and review** ** _Phantom of the Manor._** **It honestly makes writing a lot easier when I know people are looking forward to it.**

 **I remain, ladies and gentlemen, your obedient servant,**

 **Eliyah**


	13. Cloth and Kindness

**I know some of you are going to hate this announcement, but this will probably be the last chapter for a while. I need to buckle down and finish my essay. I will give you this last gift before vanishing for probably a month. Love you all! ~ Eliyah**

* * *

The feeling of eyes on me was still apparent when I woke up. Sunlight trickled in from the window, and the sound of the city made its way through the glass and into my ears. _Strange, it was silent last night._ I thought as I threw the blankets back. Wandering into the bathroom, I threw my pajamas on the ground before stepping into the hot blast of water that the shower provided. After having properly washed, I stepped out and reached for the tank top I had worn the night before only for my hand to touch nothing but steam. Looking around the bathroom, I was shocked to find that my clothes were nowhere to be found.

Wrapping a towel around my body, I stepped back into my room to find my bed made. The pillows hosted the tank top and the shorts. Laying on the end of the bed were a pair of jeans that had faded with the years of use and a blouse I had never seen before. It was white, with beige and gold thread embroidering the boat-cut collar and puffed out sleeves. _Monsieur Erik?_ I mused, fingering the light material.

Dressing took less time than usual. Even though I could not feel his eyes, I knew Erik had to be nearby. Once dressed, I brushed out my hair and pulled it up off my neck with an elastic band. Like magic, as soon as I had my hand on the door, three quick knocks echoed off it. "Minta, you up?" Dad called.

My answer was opening the door. He glowed as he smiled, the best I had seen him since last night. His face was smooth once again, no worried wrinkles or lackluster shimmer. "Good morning, princess." He said, leaning in and laying a kiss on my hairline. "Did you sleep well?"

The memories of the night rushed to the forethought and a smile grew on my face without my control. "Yeah, once I was asleep." I admitted, thinking about the violins.

"Good, good." He mumbled, looking at my clothes with a smile. "Do you like the blouse? You loved them when you were little."

 _So it was Dad._ I thought, letting out a sigh as I smiled. "I love it." I declared, pinching the bottom hem and tugging at it a bit. "Very airy and soft." He chuckled and wrapped an arm around me.

The quick hug ended with him walking in and over to my closet. He opened the shutters and thumbed through the few articles I had hanging in there. "Um, Dad? Can I help you?" I asked, walking up behind him and placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Monsieur Babineaux, head of the department has asked if the first night can be a formal event. Suits and gowns, you know." He said, holding up the only dresses I owned. "I thought we might go shopping," he turned fast enough that the dresses' hems slashed at my chest, "unless you don't want to, that is. We don't have to go. It's your choice."

I glanced over the two and grimaced. The one in his left hand was one my aunt had given me for my fourteenth birthday. It had been too tight even back then. The skimpy black material barely reached the middle of my thighs and left nothing to the imagination. No sleeves, no back, and hardly any dress. I had brought it with the intentions of never wearing it, except maybe as a shirt.

The other was not much better. I had bought it for homecoming the previous year with the little money I had saved up from mowing lawns and babysitting. It was red, only a bit longer than the other, and sleeves that were sewn to fall halfway down my upper arms. It was cute, but thinking of the dinner…

No, it would not be enough, I decided.

"Sure, where should we start?"

Dad hustled me into the car and ordered the driver to take us to a store that was just across the Seine. Walking into the shop, I felt the air leave my body in a loud gasp. The narrow hallway that lead to the store front was covered in mirrors that reflected the lights so much that it was almost blinding. We walked into the foyer where a man immediately called out "Christophe!"

Dad greeted him, laughing as he shook his hand. "Belmont, it's good to see you." The two began talking much faster than I could understand. My head dropped and my cheeks turned red. _Maybe Monsieur can help me learn to listen better._ Finally, Dad turned to me and placed an arm around the man's shoulders. He gestured to the man and said, "Minta, this is Monsieur Belmont Gosse. He owns this place." Turning to his friend, he gestured to me now. "Belmont, my daughter Aminta-Rose."

The man in question was not as tall as my father, nor as wide in the shoulders. He was thin, gangly almost. Black hair receded from his head in a perfect half circle, save for the pieces that stuck out madly from the edges of his face. Thick horn-rimmed glasses perched the bridge of his nose, enlarging his already large black eyes that looked me over with great intensity. "Aminta…" He repeated in his graveled voice, rolling the name on his tongue and sending a sickly shiver through my body. "That is not a traditionally French name, is it? Lovely, lovely. And Rose? Is it a middle name or just a second name?" He did not wait for an explanation, seeming to come up with his own. "Lovely name, lovely girl…You created a beautiful specimen, Christophe." Dad chuckled and I blanched completely.

 _Strange._ That was the only word I could think of for this guy.

He and Dad began talking again in the fastest French they could muster, leaving me to muse and wander the store front. The kaleidoscope of colors fascinated me, especially the ones displayed on mannequins. None seemed to scream to me, to call my name and beg to be worn. They all seemed so…adult. So grown up and formal. I did not hate the concept. Some of them were gorgeous, some so elegant. It just seemed like seventeen-year-olds were left out of the design. I could never see myself wearing any of them, except maybe to the wedding of someone I hated. Upstage the bride in haute couture.

It dawned on me that the two had gone silent, and I slowly turned to see that they were staring at me. I offered a weak smile and walked back over. "I'm sorry, the dresses are just beautiful Monsieur Gosse."

"Just Belmond, ma'mselle. No need to be formal with me." He said, grinning at me. Whether I meant to or not, I found myself leaning closer to Dad. "If you'll both follow me to the back, we'll get started right away."

Dad was still chatting with him as we walked, walking side by side with the man while I stayed more in the back. The hallway we had been led into split off into two neighboring areas. Dad walked nto the room with sofas and mirrors while an older lady who spoke too quickly for me to catch her name led me the opposite direction, into a hall of doors.

She placed me in a room and left me with instructions to change out of my clothes and to put on this slip and robe. I was hesitant to obey, but did so nonetheless. The last thing I needed was someone doing it for me.

Two younger ladies walked in, each toting three large canvas bags each each. Belmond entered with one more and left with one of the girls, leaving the other to begin unzipping the strange bags and letting their gown come out.

It soon became a whirlwind of cloth and hands as different dresses were put onto my body. Every time someone entered, they took one dress away and dropped off two more. It seemed never ending, and all I could do was listen as the girl told me to breathe in or out.

Only a few dresses made it to the presentation floor. The first of which was a sea blue dress that hugged my body but flared out at my hips, letting me move with some freedom. Dad argued against it right away, pointing out the plunging neckline that was accented with beads and lacework. He said something to Belmond and the assistants, and I was soon being twirled about again.

It was like that a few more times before the workers really got the hint that we did not want to see my belly button through the neckline. The other dress that had Dad fuming was one that I felt uncomfortable just wearing. It reminded me a bit of the dress my aunt had given me, only this one was white and lacy. It was sold with a sheer baby blue detachable skirt that flared out and accented itself as unnecessary.

He looked at it with knitted eyebrows. "What do you think, Minta?"

I spun in the mirror once, turned to him and said plainly, "I feel like a lousy stripper."

That had him arguing with Belmond once again, who said something along the lines of "that's fashion today." Dad clutched the collar of the man's nice shirt and whispered something that seemed vaguely threatening. I was ushered back into my little hole by a white-faced little man as he hurried to gather several of the dresses that had been placed in my room.

After that, I started getting dresses I liked much better. The first was black, two tiers in the skirt, with one strap over the shoulder. Beautiful white flowers ran down from the strap across my body and around the back, drawing attention up to my face rather than to my chest. I walked out with a smile, which in turn had Dad smiling.

He agreed to buy that one, and allowed me to keep looking. That was how I found another gorgeous dress. It was light pink, with gold beadwork acting as a belt and a neckline. The bust was slightly ruffled, but not in a gaudy way, and the skirt was smooth and straight. Walking out in it made me feel like a girl on her way to the prom, and Dad seemed to pick up on that energy. "Do you love it?"

I chuckled as I looked at myself in the mirror. The girl looking back hardly seemed like me. I did not smile as brightly as she did. Or maybe it was the other way around. Either way, we were smiling and beautiful. "I think I do." A small part of me wondered what Monsieur would think, but I crushed it quickly and went back to enjoying my reflection.

We left with two dresses, having paid in money and an apology on Dad's part. Belmond brushed it off, however. "It happens a lot, Christophe. Do not think of it anymore."

Before returning to the manor, Dad had the driver pull off to a little parking lot and led me down to the Seine. A small bistro sat not too far off on a rocky ledge. Upon entering, the woman behind the counter rushed around it and locked Dad into a firm hug. "Monsieur Dubois, I am so happy to see you!" She squealed, tightening her python-like grasp around my father. Dad returned it with a crushing hug of his own, making her squeak like a rubber toy.

The cook peeked out from the door and yelled Dad's name. "It's good to see you again. Glad to see that plant's not working you to death." He said, his moustache bristling with every word he spoke. His eyes held a mirthful twinkle as he walked up and smacked the taller man on the back.

 _Is Dad taller than everyone around here?_ I wondered absently until I was forced back into reality by the vice like grip on the young woman. "You must be Aminta-Rose! Christophe has told us so much about you!"

"He has?" I wheezed out, dots forming in my vision. She dropped me before I stopped breathing, but only by a hair. I had to grab onto Dad to keep from falling.

She smiled and nodded to Dad. "He always talks about how proud he is."

The cook grabbed the girl's shoulder. "Sabine. You're scaring her." He smiled at me and twirled the end of his moustache. "Don't think too poorly of her, Mademoiselle. She is excitable." He led up to a table that overlooked the Riviera, leaving before he could take our order. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Sabine leaned up against the counter staring at my dad with a goofy smile on her face.

Food was placed before us not too long after. The cook, who introduced himself as Alexandre, took no money from Dad as he offered to pay now. "You've done more for Sabine and me than I can ever repay. A free dinner is not enough, _mon ami_."

"Enough. You're going to embarrass me." Dad said with a lighthearted tone, bowing his head to the man as he rushed back into the kitchen.

The food before us was much more normal to me than the first restaurant's selection had been. Dad and I had matching cuts of steak, easily ten ounces or more, with cubed potatoes and an assortment of veggies on the side. Bread was promptly brought out by Sabine, who lingered long enough to stare at Dad up close before shuffling back to her place at the stand.

We began to eat, but I found my mouth was too full on unasked questions to take any of the food in. "How do you know the cook and his…daughter?" I asked, cutting my steak into smaller and smaller pieces.

Dad glanced over as Sabine and smiled, and I caught the light pink that entered his cheeks. "Alex was struggling a bit last year, couldn't make ends meet. So," he popped a potato into his mouth before continuing, "I hosted some guests here in town and brought them down here to eat. He made quite a bit of money that day, and I left a generous tip."

"How generous is generous?" I inquired, taking a bite of the steak and enjoying the rosemary flavor the meat held.

"Enough to pay the rent for a while." Dad answered. He put his utensils down and looked me squarely in the eyes. "Having money means you have a responsibility to help others. I was just trying to do my part."

"I think Sabine would like a bit more than a good tip and a few visits." I hinted, sneaking a look at the young blonde who was now distracted by something in the kitchen. My attention turned to Dad fast enough to see his face slowly fade from the bright red they had been.

He busted out laughing, infectious as it was. Soon we were both laughing. "What about you?" He asked, turning his eyes down to the steak before him. "Anyone you want to visit with more?"

My turn to be red again. My face filled with blood as I thought immediately of Monsieur, then Archer. They were the only two I had really any contact with. "Not really." I let the lie slip between my teeth and followed it up quickly with, "Maybe that will change this weekend."

He nodded slowly. "Perhaps." He began talking about some of the guests, but it simply bounced off me. I did not care about them, I did not really want to discuss them. At that moment, I just wanted to eat, laugh, and talk.

They could wait.

Dinner was followed up by a fruit and cheese plate, though we could not get through all the choices. Upon saying goodbye, Dad forced Sabine to take some money. "Really Monsieur, Papa and I don't need your money. You've already given us so much."

"Take it anyway." He said, closing her hands around what she had been given. "Give your aunt my best."

"I will." She said, dropping her head in an attempt to hide her flushed cheeks. We waved as we walked back out to the car which was warm from idling. The rest of the ride back to the house was quiet, lit by the street lamps and apartment lights.

Even the manor was silent as we walked in the front doors. "So you know, Minta," Dad called as we walked to our rooms, "Madame Giry will be bringing some help to clean tomorrow. Best make yourself scarce."

I agreed, and we shouted our partings through the halls. Hanging the dresses in my closet, I thumbed their material one last time before changing out for bed. The blankets were cold and crisp, smelling of soap and lavenders. _When did I wash this?_ I wondered.

That ended quickly when my hand slipped under my pillow and felt the harsh parchment that had been hidden underneath.

 _Mademoiselle,_

 _I took the liberty of cleaning your sheets and pillow covers with oils to help you sleep. It would be a travesty if you were unable to get enough sleep because of late night chats._

 _Your obedient servant_

I laid my head down on the pillow and took a deep breath. Lavender, and something that smelled like warm, soft, almost milky wood. My body relaxed as the scents filled my mind and laid me off to peaceful sleep.

It was all in vain as I woke up screaming.


	14. Midnight

**...hello. Quick thanks to _Death's Angel 3000yrs_ for kind of inspiring the chapter. **

* * *

I could not remember the last time I slept. During my life, it was rare that I found myself laying in a bed having rested. Normally it was at the organ or piano, passed out from exhaustion and without any restorative properties. Now I wandered the halls of my creation once more, unable to seek even that refuge. I found myself pausing to stare out over the Paris skyline. A lifetime ago, I had intimately known the buildings that perched about the Seine. Their shadows would break up the midnight sky and offer seclusion. Now that familiarity had faded, lost in reconstructions and repurposing. I had several lifetimes to learn about them, but I turned my nose up at the thought. They seemed inadequate. My Paris was buried beneath them, lost to all memory but my own and its splendor shined brighter than the eternal lights that bled over the city.

Lost in musing, I found myself wandering the halls near her room. A distant bell rung out thrice, and with it came a shriek. Had I any flowing blood, it would have frozen in my veins. I could almost hear her vocal chords strain with the pitch of her gut-wrenching scream. Fear filled me as I raced to her door, defeated barely by her father. Christophe nearly tore the door off its hinges. I slipped in behind him to watch as he braced a struggling Aminta-Rose. Her words were incoherent, jumbled in with her sobs and screams. The bed sheets were tangled around her legs, leaving her to thrash about like a fish in a net. She eventually found herself enough to grab onto her father's shirt and press her face into his shoulder.

To his efforts, he seemed calm. I could see the flicker of worry that remained in his eyes, but it was dim. His face was still, like Michelangelo's _David_. No facet of his expression revealed any weakness. She eventually calmed down, though her hands still shook as she was laid back down. Christophe smoothed her hair, but his eyes were dim as he shuffled out the door. I lingered, watching as she stared up at the ceiling. Tears slid into her hair, a few drops running close to her ear. Her chest shuddered with every other breath that she took.

"Mademoiselle?" I whispered. She lifted her head, the rest of her body laying still as stone. Slowly her head returned to the pillow, allowing her to resume her intense study of the plain white paint that covered her overhead. I crept to the end of her bed. She made no sound as I stepped close enough to hold her hand. My knee touched the ground as I took her hand in mine and rubbed the back with my thumb.

She did not flinch at the contact. It was like a switch had been switched to its off position, turning off the girl. Suddenly, in the quietest voice she had, she began whispering. "She was here. She was here, and I couldn't escape."

"Who was here, Minta?"

"Her. Jess."

The name struck my inmost being. Christophe had mentioned a Jessica. Minta's mother. He had neglected to tell me much about her, only that she had lost custody of her daughter.

"I couldn't breathe. She was holding my head down and I-I-" She began breathing quickly, too quickly for her to retain any oxygen. I placed one hand on the top of her head and stroked her hair while whispering quiet nothings to calm her.

"You're safe, Minta. She's not here."

In a sudden jerk, she was sitting up and clutching the collar of my shirt. Her eyes were feral and bright, reflecting a madness that the witching hour provoked. "Yes she is! She's always here." Fists filled with surprisingly long hair pressed against her temples, like she could squeeze the memory out.

I carefully slid my hands in between hers and her head, forcing her wild bluebell eyes to focus on me. "Minta, are you listening to me?" Her lip quivered, and I took it as a confirmation. "Your mother is not here. I wouldn't allow her here. She'd be hanging by the rafters before she could get near you." The shine of lunacy dulled. Her lips began moving again, murmuring agreements. Leaning forward, she rested her forehead against my shoulders. She fitted comfortably in the crook of my neck. Her arms wrapped around me, not strong enough to move me into her embrace.

"It's all my fault." She said, the heat of her breathe brushing my skin. "If I was never born, she wouldn't hate me."

My body seemed to freeze. A breath settled into my non-existent lungs and held them hostage. I pulled her against me with a fierceness that surprised me. It was her turn to have a hitch in breathing. "She doesn't have the right to make you feel that." I seethed through clenched teeth. "You don't need her." The light puffs of her breath down my collar.

Cradling her in my arms lead to the discovery that she had managed to fall back asleep. The peace that covered her previously crazed face led a small smile to grow on my face. She did not wake as I laid her down on her pillows and tucked her blankets snuggly around her.

I should have left right then. My presence was no longer needed. Even so, there I stayed. Watching her as she rolled herself onto her stomach, undoing my work to fully cover her with blankets. How she pressed half of her face into her pillow, and with one swift movement she would suffocate herself once more. Logic told me to adjust her before she asphyxiated and scared herself awake. Temptation swooned at the suggestion and declared it the only viable choice. Self-preservation screamed that I leave. With any luck, she would assume my interference was part of a dream.

The bells tolled five times by the time I left. Down in the basements, there was a canvas that sat unnervingly blank. Her image conjured itself in the form of a light sketch in graphite, sitting out in the garden like I had watched her do so many times over the past months. As I filled in the basic colors of the young lady, I immediately found myself building comparisons to _her._

It was like comparing a rose and a rainstorm. _She_ was always so smooth and graceful, demure and quiet. Aminta-Rose was a ball of lightning begging to be unleashed, bringing both chaos and light. Painting her meant giving life to every little hair that sprung from her hair regardless of how she fastened it down. It meant veering away from the extravagant costumes that I was so used to, covering her in loose shirts and trousers. I painted her precious _muguets_ at her feet, shading her with the willow she adored.

The only telling that time had passed was the echo of the first basement door as it was slammed shut. I placed my brushes in a pitcher of water and slipped into the shadows to investigate.

The first cellar was primarily used as a wine storage, and it seemed that someone had taken a few bottles with them. Heading into the foyer revealed the conglomeration of Christophe's guests. I took no note of them, seeing as they were not important to me, and was about to return to my work when a gasp and whispers stole my attention and drove my gaze to the staircase.

Minta.

She was dressed like a woman, robed in black. The dress only stretched over one shoulder, leaving the bodice to stretch across her chest and hold itself in place. White floral patterns caught my eye and lead me constantly to her. Somehow, the untamable hairs were smooth and obedient as they rested in an elegant bun. Silver teardrops clung to a thin chain across her throat. The icy gaze she wore did not stop at me, nor did her face betray her in revealing my location. The smile she bore was painted on cherry red lips.

For the first time, she reminded me of the women I had spent my life around. The haughty heiresses and the proud ballerinas who commanded their spaces. Yet there was something distinctly different about this Minta. Nerves built up inside my mind, like the paranoia of a dummy or a wax figurine. It was like looking on something not quite right.

She was not quite Aminta-Rose.

* * *

 **Okay, so we're seeing some things begin to take place. I honestly need to write out a timeline for my own benefit so that I don't have to constantly reread my story to remember what season we're in or how long she's been in Paris. Anyway, reviews are great, now I'm going to get some sleep because I got finals to stress about and so naturally this is when my brain decides to focus on this.**

 **Your obedient servant,**

 **Eliyah**


	15. Showtime

Morning came in its sluggish pace. Light crept its way up my body until landing on my face. Sitting up resulted in several joints snapping into place and an exhausted groan escaping my lips. Claw-like fingernails raked their way over my throat, drawing more of my attention to the soreness that resided therein. A vague memory of screaming tickled the back of my mind, but I could not remember why. My eyes flitted up to the clock that hung on the wall. It read nine in the morning.

A yawn broke my hazy attention and reminded me that the day had only just begun. I showered quickly and braided my hair while it was still wet. I threw on a white button up shirt and a pair of light blue jeans and tennis shoes.

As I walked out the door, I grabbed one of my coats and stepped out into the courtyard of the house. The once bright and vibrant world I had known was filled with muted reds, oranges, and greys now. A storm was building across the Seine and the rolling fields beyond the city. Moisture in the air cut through my warmth and chilled me to my very core. The gardens, as I expected, had dulled into their wintry sleep and no longer shone with flower or color.

The bare hedges now clearly showed the wrought iron fences that they once concealed. The songs of nature were replaced with horns beeping and the miasma of voices that existed throughout the city. It was a strange melody of its own, with pitches rising and falling in rhythm to beat of my heart. Sharp piercing notes rising from the low mutterings.

My skin puckered as a chill raced down my spine. I turned, seeking him out, but only caught a shadow fleeing from a window. Another chill tore through me, this time the reminder of the crisp fall morning. Before long, I was back in my room. The noise from outside was audible, but not in the clear style it had been down on the grounds. I kicked my shoes off by the vanity and flung my coat onto the bed. It was then that I noticed a strange cylindrical object on the window sill. The curved body and large base reminded me of the wax presses I had seen in movies. I clicked my nails down the carved rings before slipping it in my pocket.

Not even a second later, there was a knock at my door. A very little wait proceeded the entrance of Madame Giry and two women of near the same age. One of the new ladies was carrying a tray with a glass of orange juice and a plate loaded with scrambled eggs and sausage. They introduced themselves in rapid succession. I caught neither name. Breakfast was laid before me and I was forced to stuff my mouth while the good Madame watched with an intense expression.

"I've scheduled you some appointments at local salons, so you do not interrupt with preparations." She suddenly said. Her voice was strong, clipped, like an exasperated mother. "Any free time you have may be spent in the city. You will return to the manor at one o'clock precisely. Monsieur Bernard has graciously offered to meet with you and go over etiquette. You will be dressed and ready before the guests arrive."

I lost my appetite upon hearing the ending. One of the ladies took the tray. "When is that?"

"Five o'clock." Madame Giry muttered, picking through my closet. "Which will you be wearing?"

"The black one." I said immediately. She laid the gown on the bed before dragging me out with only one shoe on, the other in my hand along with the sleeve of my coat. Dad briefly saw me as I was taken away, and I cried out for him to save me.

He laughed and kept walking.

I was bustled into the town car and sent off without a chance to say goodbye. Quiet snickering was apparent from the front seat, but the driver said nothing. The drive was quick and noisy, filled with the sounds of city life. Here, in the thick of it, I could discern each player in the great musical. The sopranos, ladies with small dogs ordering their tenor drivers to hurry up. Baritones hollering for the other cars to move out of their way. Basses mingling with altos. A stunning orchestra of human life.

The car stopped in front of a clean white building with _L'Institute_ written in thin black lines. The interior was just as white and just as clean, with a large black chalkboard along the back wall. Several lines of text were scrawled across it, colors varying to form a chalky rainbow. Nearly every chair was taken, with prissy madams and young ladies chattering endlessly. Mindlessly. Few took notice of my presence.

The attendant greeted me with a bright smile. "Hello, mademoiselle. How can we help you today?" Her words were slow, easy to understand. She probably dealt with lots of novices, working in such a place.

I nodded, giving her the best smile I could, which amounted to a small curve in my lips. "I-I think I'm supposed to have an appointment." My tongue turned to lead as I heard a nearby occupant snicker at my fumble. Deep breaths kept the heat in my cheeks from revealing.

There was a series of quick and quiet taps of computer keys before she exclaimed happily. "You're Mademoiselle Dubois, are you not?" I nodded, biting my lip as I glanced out of the corner of my eye to see a young lady and her mother staring at me. She snapped her fingers and an attendant appeared and snatched my coat from me. "Please wait here. I'll go get the owner. He was very interested in meeting you."

 _Owner?_ I choked my protests down as she turned and vanished, slipping into a corridor behind the blackboard. My sleeve crinkled as I gripped the fabric around my elbow. Breathing in the fumes of nail polish made my head ache a bit, but not enough that it was piercing.

Lacking for things to focus on, I turned to look around the salon. The attendants were nearly a dozen of petite men and women stooping over their clientele. They were easy to pick apart due to their uniforms, which vaguely reminded me of a nurse's scrubs, white with black trimming around the edges. Each stroke from their brushes were confident flicks of the wrist and careful watch of the eye. Most of the women who were having work done paid them no attention, flicking through magazines or talking with those who came with them. My heart shuddered as it thought of my solitude. I found myself wishing that Madame Giry or one her attendants had come with me. Briefly I wished for Kelly, but I could envision her discomfort as the eyes of these women bore into me. _She would be threatening to fight everyone by now._ The thought made a smile bloom across my face.

A shadow appeared in the corner of my vision. The silhouette of a woman whose presence left my blood frozen in my veins. I wanted to turn and face her, to scream for help, to run. Eventually I turned, slowly as to appear normal.

She was nowhere to be found.

Shuffling drew my attention back to the counter, where the receptionist had returned. Following close behind her was a tall, coltish man dressed in the same white and black uniform as the other attendants. However, his shirt bore a silver pin that seemed to elevate him above the others. "Mademoiselle Dubois, this is Angelo." The young lady said with an excited smile. "He'll be helping you."

Angelo took my hands in his own. He rubbed the backs with his thumbs before tracing the edges. My muscles tightened, wanting to pull away from him, but I relaxed quickly when he led me to the available chair. "What's the occasion?" He asked, his voice a surprising bass. His deep voice only served to accent his words, making them seem genuine.

"Dinner party." I answered quietly, eyes flitting about trying to catch someone listening in.

He formed an O with his mouth and began opening drawers. "Fancy?" Upon my confirmation, he continued. "What color's the dress? Black? That'll look great with these…" His words trailed off as he pulled out a set of nail polishes. A basin of water appeared beside the chair out of thin air, and he set my fingertips in the warm water.

While my fingers soaked, he pulled out a small notebook and a pen. He began sketching out little designs and presenting them to me as I described my dress. Once he had come to a decision, he plucked my right hand out of the water. Nail file in hand, he began tending to the irregular curves and sharp breaks in my fingernails. He worked quietly, pinching each finger as he went along. As he transferred over to my left hand, I saw it again.

The shadow.

Angelo gripped my hand harder as he kept me from jumping out of the seat. "Are you alright?"

My ribs fought valiantly to keep my heart from bursting through as it convulsed. Once calmed again, I nodded to the man and let him continue.

I let my thoughts wander away, losing myself to the darkness. Thoughts still passed through my mind, echoing into images in front of me. Old memories from Cardend. None with _her._ When I had nothing to think about, no images from the past that I wished to call upon, I simply sat and enjoyed the quiet of my mind.

Something cold hit my hand, drawing me out of my head. My nails were covered in a glossy peach color, little white flowers on my thumbs. Angelo was spraying a cold liquid over the nails, droplets striking my skin. He smiled at his handiwork and glanced up at me. "What do you think?"

"I love it." I replied, holding my hands up so that the light could make them shine even more. "Thank you so much."

He slowly stood up, smiling in return, before packing up his many polishes and tools. I followed him back up to the counter. The two murmured something to one another before he returned to the back and the receptionist faced me. "How much do I owe for these?" I asked, reaching for the ratty black wallet that was kept in my front pocket.

She smiled, laughing as she waved off the effort. "Don't worry about it, mademoiselle. You're paid and accounted for." I blushed as I removed my hand from my pocket. My coat was gently laid in my hands and I made sure to thank them again before heading outside.

The driver was leaning against the car, waiting. He nodded to me, a silent greeting as he opened the door to the car. I climbed in, and soon we were back in the traffic that filled every street.

The next stop was a hair salon, and the beginning was like a case of _déjà vu_. I was greeted kindly, name already known to the people within. I was left waiting a moment while the young man working the receptionist's desk rushed somewhere in the back, and returned with three attendants. At some point, my coat was once again taken. One pulled the elastic out of my hair, unleashing the braid in all its might. They then each proceeded to run their fingers through my hair, exclaim "It's so thick! So lush and beautiful!" before guiding me to a chair and unleashing hell on my head. Three combs dug into the messes of brown waves and curls, fighting desperately not to break as they battled the snarls and tangles that always appeared. I wished that I could return to the quiet in my head, but every time I tried I was pulled out with a hiss and a "So sorry. Just need to get this through."

After an hour or so of effort from all three ladies, I was allowed to look in the mirror. I found myself unable to speak. Not a single hair dared to peek out from the bun that the women had conjured. Little sections were thinly braided and used as a decoration at the base of the balled hairs. "How?" I asked, turning to the grinning women. "What did you use? Because I need all of it."

That's how I left the hairdresser with a bag full of oils and sprays that the women swore were the secret. Certainly not witchcraft.

Once again, I found myself stuck in the car while we waited to move. My phone's green light flashed as it began to vibrate. Two long, so a text rather than a call. I checked it and smiled. Dad's name appeared under the bright 11:24 that sat at the top of my screen.

 **You on your way home?**

I tapped out a quick yes and snickered as he responded immediately.

 **Mme Giry kicked me out. Want to meet in the Parc Monceau?**

"Monsieur, do you mind taking a detour?" I asked, leaning up to place my head next to the older man's head rest. He hummed before nodding, and I texted Dad letting him know we would be there.

The park was majestic. Trees of gold and red lined stone pathways that wound through the space. A large pond hosted ducks and swans. I found Dad on a little white stone bridge near the middle of the area. He was leaning on the rails, staring out with a faraway look in his eyes and a lazy smile. I propped my elbows up like his own, bending over to rest my head against my hands.

His eyes flickered to the side, catching me as I watched his face brighten. "You look beautiful, Min-Min." I shoved him, which did little to move him other than leaning a bit. "Careful, don't want to mess up your hair." He lifted a hand and placed it on top of my head. "Not too much, anyway."

I leaned into him, fitting myself to his side as he wrapped an arm around me. We stood there, staring at the world before us. People passed us occasionally, but it seemed that the Parc Monceau was for us and us alone. Still the feeling persisted, of being watched. The child in me seized and cried that she was there. My heart was certain that it was Monsieur, despite how impossible it would be.

"I have something for you." Dad suddenly said. I looked up to his face while he dug into his coat pocket. He withdrew a single thin black box, nearly as long as a ruler. The hinges snapped open enthusiastically. Light struck the silver necklace, illuminating the small tear drops that held bright clear stones.

My lungs seemed to forget how to work as my eyes drunk in the delicate chain and its adornments. "Daddy…"

"I'll give it to you right before dinner," He said, snapping the box closed again, "but I figured that seeing it now would reduce the shock later." He placed a kiss on my forehead and took my hand in his own.

Finally finding my voice, I manage to breathe a "thank you" before throwing my arms around him. He guided me out of the park and back to the car. The ride back to the house was quick. "Thank you, Jacques." Dad said as the parting whilst the driver dropped us off. Madame Giry let us in, naming the dining room and parlor as rooms that were off limits.

I left for my room and sat at my vanity. For the first time in my life, I wished that I had not left the gas station make up palate back in America. Having its garish peacock blue was better than having nothing. It had been the last gift that my…that _she_ had given me.

I could still hear her voice as she gave it to me.

 _You might as well try to do something about that face._

A knock echoed on my door. The weathered apprentice of the Madame was waiting on the other side. "You're wanted in the library, mam'selle."

Sure enough, my favorite French midget was waiting for me. I expected him to launch into etiquette rules, but instead he asked, "Have you eaten lunch yet, Mademoiselle Dubois?" When I shook my head, he drew near one of the assistants and whispered something to her. She scuttled off, leaving me with my tutor. "I'm sure you are nervous. If you have anything you want to ask, now would be the best time."

I smiled softly. I wanted to shake my head, but I was sure that the spell holding my hair would vanish if I did so. "The only thing I'm nervous about is if I have to ask them to repeat themselves too often." Although it was meant to be a joke, a part of me dreaded having the native French speakers prattling away only to be interrupted by me.

Once again, to my surprise, Monsieur Bernard did not rant away about the hypothetical. "Smile and tell them that while your capabilities are much improved, you still struggle a bit. Or, you could tell them you missed a word or two. If nothing else, your father should be able to help you navigate the conversations." I nearly fell over. No yelling, just the soft tenor of his voice. Our meeting continued like this, with quiet words passed back and forth. The assistant returned with a tray of fruits and cheeses, which she gingerly laid atop a stack of books.

He waddled over and lifted a slice of apple from the arrangement. "Come now," he ordered, sweeping his hand over the food, "I had this brought for you. It's important to indulge your appetite a little before dinner. It keeps you from eating too much." My stomach twisted, languishing in its emptiness as I tried to resist the urge to devour the entire tray. Relenting, I joined him. He began pairing cheeses with strawberries and apples, not something I wanted to try. Especially when he popped a small slice of a blue veined cheese atop a piece of pear. Together, we made quick work of the selections.

Our conversation continued until the bells chimed, announcing it to be four o'clock. Monsieur Bernard excused himself as Madame Giry retrieved me once more and escorted me to my room. She lifted the dress up and began stalking over to me.

"Madame," I finally said, catching her attention, "do you mind if I do this myself? I can put on a dress without help."

She narrowed her eyes at me for a moment, but did not say anything. The dress was placed in my hands and the women shuffled out the door. For the first time, I took a deep breath.

In.

Out.

In.

I held the breath until my lungs ached and stars appeared in my eyes. Slowly it fled, taking with it the worry I had been holding onto. The dress was not difficult to get into, nor are the matching black shoes, and soon enough I was sitting in front of a mirror staring at the girl on the other side. _Breathe, everything is alright._ A voice similar to Monsieur's whispered in my head.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

It did not feel fine. Anxiety and Paranoia still ate at my heart and gnawed at my bones. _I can't go down there._ I thought. A buzz started filling my body, leaving my toes and fingers numb. _They'll laugh at me. Dad is going to be so embarrassed._

 _Breathe, ma petite. Everything will be fine._

 _No, it won't. I'm going to trip down the stairs and break my neck. Doesn't matter what I do, I'll find some way to ruin everything. If I just could just stay up here,_ then _everything would be fine._

 _Minta, you deserve to be down there with them. Show them the elegance Jess forced into you._

I leaned my head against the back of my chair. The two voices refused to stop arguing, not until a knock at the door. Watching the mirror showed Dad, dressed in black slacks and a white puffy shirt held back by a grey vest, sneak in through a thin crack as the door barely moved. He stepped up behind me and placed his hands on my shoulders. "You look beautiful."

"Thanks, Daddy." My voice sounded pleasant, good enough inflections to cover up the mechanical tone with which they were delivered. The faint sound of laughter echoed through the door. "Are they all here?"

Dad shook his head. "Just a few right now. Monsieur Babineaux and his aides have not arrived yet." He retrieved the box again, this time removing the necklace from its resting place. It chilled my skin as he slid it around my throat. It rested against my chest, barely missing the neck line of my dress.

There was the echo of a door beyond my room, and the noise in the foyer quieted for a split second before picking up again. "Showtime." He whispered, kissing my head before ducking out. I could hear him loudly announce his presence, stealing the attention. A grin grew on my face as I imagined him fixing a nonexistent problem on his sleeve while he walked down the stairs, him smiling like the mad hatter as he greets his boss.

 _Showtime._ I take another deep breath before standing up. Crossing the room took little effort. Grabbing the door's handle took more. Opening the door seemed impossible as my arm froze in position.

 _Breathe. Everything is fine._

The door swung open and I sauntered out. I scanned the crowd in my home with a harsh eye, inspecting each one like a royal sifting through peasants in search of high born people. Part of me felt like a different person as I stepped down to stand at Dad's side. Someone more like Jess.

Someone made of plastic.

Dad placed a hand on the small of my back and gestured to me. "Monsieur Babineaux, may I present my daughter. Aminta-Rose Dubois."

I curtsied, keeping my head low as I listened for him to speak. When he did not, I filled the silence. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Monsieur."

He was a man on the bigger side, adorned in matching grey slacks and vest. His shirt was red, obscured by a slightly darker jacket. White hairs stood upright where he still had hair. Deep rooted smile lines shaded his mouth while dimples accented his toothy grin. "The infamous Aminta-Rose." He said with a voice that sounded like he had smoked one too many cigars. Not cigarettes, he did not seem the type.

"Please sir, just Minta." I insisted.

He chuckled, a sound akin to an old engine trying to start. "How well mannered." He moved to the side and presented a young lady. "This is my daughter, Clair."

I looked at her face and felt my stomach drop. She seemed so familiar. Perhaps I had simply seen too many tall, thin, blonde girls in my life time, but I knew I had seen her somewhere before. She smiled at me, flashing a set of pearly white teeth that reminded me of an old shark documentary I had seen. "The pleasure is mine, Minta." She said kindly. I nodded and gave her a smile that fixed itself to my lips with little room for movement. "Your dress is divine."

"Yours as well." I hated to admit how much I loved her gown. The burgundy fabric was sewn almost to match her figure, capping her shoulders with silver jewels. It looked beautiful, especially on her.

She looked away, blushing slightly at the compliment. "Papa, how about I steal away the prettier Dubois and let you talk in private?" She did not wait for a response, instead placing her hand on my arm and leading me away from Dad and towards a gaggle of young adults dressed to the nines.

Clair kept me by her side as she struck up a conversation with her fellow heirs. They chuckled at some joke told by one of the boys before a shorter, stockier girl looked at me and smiled. "I'm Grainne." She extended a hand to me, letting her white silk scarf slip off her shoulder and into the crook of her elbow.

I took her hand and offered my name. Soon the group was rushing to greet me. I knew I would not remember them all, but I tried regardless to remember who was who. All I knew for sure was Grainne was the one with red hair wearing a blue puffy dress, a young man named Eloi wearing a white three piece suit, and Clair. They continued their conversations, turning to me and asking my opinion on whatever their topic was from time to time. I was not quite sure why I needed to chip in on cats, snowflakes, and baklava.

A little bell chimed from somewhere on the upper balcony. "Dinner is ready." Madame Giry's voice cut through the noise and reached every ear in the vicinity. Slowly the mass of people walked through the hall. I followed at the rear, hands starting to shake as my breath quickened.

"Don't worry." A voice whispered from somewhere behind me. If I had not known who it was, I would have turned or screamed upon hearing it. "You'll do marvelously Minta."

"Thank you, Monsieur." I whispered back before finally slipping through the dining room door and taking my seat at my father's side.

* * *

My longest chapter yet. Fitting, it being the first thing I've written since the beginning of the New Year.

Hey, interesting news: I kind of started a tumblr where I can give updates on chapters and such. If you're interested in taking a look, you can head on over to . com.

I appreciate all the love and support I get from you guys, it really helps me push through the blocks. And again, thanks Death's Angel 3000 for giving me advice!

I remain your obedient servant,

EV


	16. Dinner

I do not know where Dad got the wait staff from. We never had servants around the manor, but as I looked over the elongated table I could not help but wonder as men and women in black pants and white shirts move from person to person. One reached me, and placed a plate holding a bright yellow quiche in front of me. Flecks of what I assumed was ham peppered the interior of the savory custard.

There was a clink of glass beside me. Dad was tasting a white wine that a server was offering. He sipped, nodded, and ordered the wine to be used. The army of people retrieved their bottles and began filling the glasses. When they got to me, I tapped their arm and whispered, "No wine, thank you." I got a quiet 'yes madam' before the server continued on to the woman beside me.

Clair lifted her glass to her nose and took a deep breath. "Not a fan of white wines?" She asked, eyeing me and my empty glass. Her question drew the attention of her father and a few of the other adults.

"I've never had it." I answered, fighting to keep the jittering of my heart from being echoed in my voice. "The laws in America are more stringent."

Monsieur Babineaux gave a hearty laugh and waved a server over. "Please pour her just a bit." He waved the man off and turned back to me. "It would be a shame to pass up the opportunity to at least try it. You live in a very different place now, Mademoiselle Dubois."

Dad's smile strained a bit as he whispered to the server. There was a nod, and my glass vanished form in front of me. "If you'll pardon me," I reached back and grabbed my glass back from the young man, "I don't think I'll have some. It would be wasted on me, I'm sure."

A lady sitting near Clair looked like she was going to argue with me, but she shrunk back when I directed my gaze to her and sat up straighter. There was a pregnant pause in all conversation until someone on the other end of the table began chuckling. "She has your stubbornness, Christophe." Dad nodded and looked back to me with a smile. He began taking small bites of his quiche. It seemed to be the signal to everyone else to tuck in, as the attention left me feeling much lighter. I took a bite of my own and was surprised to find a layer of melted Gruyere cheese, its flavor biting my tongue and sending a delicious trill across my senses. The meat within was bacon, which paired well with the cheese and egg custard.

I had barely finished my plate when it was taken from me and I was left to fold my hands together and listen to the voices around me. The gentleman sitting beside Monsieur Babineaux's daughter called my name. "You mentioned America. Where were you living?"

"New York State, monsieur." I answered, raising my water goblet up and taking a drink.

He hummed and smiled. "I've had the pleasure to visit the region. You enjoyed it there, didn't you Babette?"

The woman on his arm drew her attention to him, then to me. "Oh yes. The city was delightful, and the small towns nearby were very friendly."

"I found the city disgusting." An older voice chimed in from further down. "So dirty and unappealing."

The two men began arguing, but it seemed that Babette wanted to talk more. She dabbed her napkin to the corner of her mouth and looked back to me. "Did you live further north?"

My mind began screaming, demanding I give an indirect answer as to conceal Cardend. There was no reason for this party of privilege to know my origins. Still, I looked at woman and found myself unable to lie. "I lived in a suburb outside of New York City."

Her eyes lit up, as did Clair's and a few other people who had been listening. "Living in the heart of Paris must be such a change."

"Not such a large one as changing countries." I insisted. The comment gained some laughter. "Paris is certainly beautiful."

"Of course it is." The older man from before huffed. "We take care of our homes. No one wants to live in a cesspool-"

His words were cut off by the head server announcing that dinner was ready. I was grateful for the shift in attention. My face hurt from smiling so much. Slowly the food was distributed, plates full of linguini and tomato sauce. Topping it all was a golden brown breaded meat that held some melted mozzarella and shaved parmigiana. The smell was divine, making my mouth water. The wine glasses were removed and replaced with identical glasses. They were promptly filled with a dark red wine that seemed to have some sediments that sunk to the bottom.

I reached for my silverware but quickly drew my hand back when I saw the tremors that were wracking my fingers. _Breathe, Minta._ Air was forced into my lungs as I steadied myself and took up the fork and knife. I had foolishly hoped that this part of the meal would be quiet, but it seemed these people were not done with me. Grainne, I recognized her voice from its soft lilt, called my name from further down the table. "Do you still have family over in the states?"

I had to think about how many of them I was willing to claim. "Yes, my grandmother."

"Were you living with her?"

My fork nearly fell out of my grip as the question was asked. _I wish._ "No. I lived with my mother." _Gramma would have wanted to keep me alive._ I bit my tongue to keep the flood of bitterness that threatened to overtake me. My appetite left me with the confession, but I still had bites of the food before me.

Someone tried to ask me about her, but Dad curved attention away from me by asking someone about their time in some region of Africa. Quickly people were enraptured with the descriptions of such an exotic place, and their lush jungles and vast plains. When the servers came about to take the plates away, I whispered to mine and requested that my plate be saved for later. He nodded before disappearing. The tremors started to affect my arms and I fought to hid them by folding my hands just above the table line.

Dessert was not noteworthy as I was too busy trying not to let my heart's screams be heard by the people around me nor seen in the shaking of my body. I felt a nudge to my ribs and I looked over to see Dad giving me a serious look. He mouthed something that looked like 'Are you okay?' and I gave the slightest shake of my head. His hand shot into the air and a server approached him quickly. Whatever was said between them was important based on Dad's tightened jaw muscles and narrowed eyes.

I nearly jumped when he suddenly rose to his feet. A huge smile was set on his face, crinkling his eyes only slightly. "Ladies and gentlemen, we've been sitting for far too long. Shall we move to the parlor? I'll send for coffee and liqueur." Happy murmurs filled the room as people dropped their spoons and vacated the room. I moved to follow them when Dad grabbed my elbow. "Honey, why don't you go to bed? I think you've earned some alone time." He said, his voice softer and lower than the tone he had been using throughout the night.

"But your boss-"

"Let me deal with him." His eyes dart to the side as a shadow of anger passed over his features. It fled as he looked back to me, smiling slightly while pressing a kiss against my head. Tears began tracing my cheeks, leaving a salty trail down to my chin. I threw my arms around him and whispered praises into his vest.

Dad walked with me until we reached the staircase. He let go of my arm and I floated up the stairs. By the time I had turned to wish him a good night, he was already down the hall. The voices of the party members rang out, laughter teasing me as I closed my door.

A sob wracked my body. I leaned up against the solid wood and slowly sunk to my knees. My hand shook violently as I covered my mouth, a vain attempt to keep the shuddered breaths and pathetic hiccups in. Hot tears soaked my cheeks as every sound I had fought back came rushing out in a single burst of pain.

His presence filled the room before he spoke, a gentle calm amongst the chaos and confusion. Fabric crumpled as he got closer, the cold of his hand resting on my shoulder. My skin prickled as I felt a puff of air as he spoke, saying something that could not breach my all-consuming thoughts. I turned to him. I watched his eyes through the holes in the mask, waited to see them widen in surprise or overflow with pity. Instead, the amber reflected the blankness of his mask. He seemed focused on my face, not my tears. How he saw past the wide tracks was beyond me.

The air hummed as he spoke again. "Breathe, Minta." He commanded, and I obeyed. Breathing in, I wiped my cheeks. Out, and I was leaning against his body, absorbing the cold like one would the warmth of the fire. He grunted, shifting his position to adapt to the new weight, before placing his arm around behind me and sighing. "You're alright. Everything's okay, just breathe." The shaking subsided and soon it was just him and I, breathing together and remaining calm.

I do not suppose I should have found a heartbeat, yet I was still surprised by the lack of one in him. As my head laid against his chest, I found myself listening for the familiar _ba-dum ba-dum ba-dum_ that accompanied living things. My eyes fell to the black gown that still draped itself around me. "I need to change." The tremors still held my voice hostage.

"Of course," His voice came out in a whisper, gentle and sweet and only for me. His hands kept hold of my elbows as he helped lift me to my feet. One blink, and he vanished. The dress slipped off as easy as it came on. A blue t-shirt and plaid pants took charge of covering my body, and white slippers replaced the black heels. I whispered 'Monsieur,' and he reappeared near the window. Part of me began to wonder if he had ever left. Darkness was all that stopped my flushed face from being revealed.

He crossed the room, a cape flourishing behind him in dramatic fashion. "May I take you somewhere?" It seemed that the darkness that hid me only strengthened him, giving him the courage to raise his voice just above the whispers. The light from the window revealed his extended hand.

I should not have. I should have asked him if we could just stay here, in the warm, in the dark. Stood my ground. Refused to go anywhere without my father nearby. So why, why did I put my hand in his?

* * *

 **Hello~ everyone.**

 **I know, I suck. I should've posted earlier, but here it is.**

 **I will hopefully post again within a week, but we will see.**

 **I am, always, your obedient servant,**

 **E.V**


	17. Midnight Excursions

"Would you mind closing your eyes?"

We stood so close that if he had a breath, I would have felt it against my cheek. My hand was smaller than his, thin pale fingers peeking out in between black covered ones. I lifted my head and stared into his, the warm amber showing nothing but a content gleam. "Promise you won't run me into the wall?" His eyes crinkled at the edges, and a soft laugh came from behind the porcelain lips.

I did as he asked. A shudder shook me when he suddenly let go of me. Something clicked to my side, where I knew the door stood. The soft touch of his hand returned, taking mine in his and placing the other near the small of my back. His leg brushed past mine as he led. Something slid against wood and let in a draft. I suppressed a shudder as he led me through the drafty hall. The low murmur of noise that had become so normal to me grew and grew with the cold.

"Open."

Everyone knows Paris is the City of Lights. From where I stood, I could see why. The roof of the mansion allowed for the bright bulbs of every high rise, every monument, every street, to fill my eyes and transport me away from my dark thoughts. Soft yellow glowed through the grey fog that enveloped the world below. Cold fled from me as I ran from edge to edge. I wanted to say something. Thank him, praise the lights, even just murmur my amazement. The words could not leave my awestruck mind. Something fell on my shoulders, shocking me out of my state. Monsieur fiddled with something near my neck, his eyes so focused on my throat that it almost took what little breath I had left. A click. "There," he murmured, "that should keep you warm." I looked down at the black waves of fabric that now covered my body. His cape. It was cold, but not like the air around us. This was colder. Ice that brushed my skin and left me with tremors that I wanted more of.

I leaned into my shoulder and took a deep breath. Roses and wax. "Thank you, Monsieur." I closed the distance between the two of us and wrapped my arms around him. He did not hesitate in hugging me. "It's beautiful up here."

I like to imagine he smiled when he heard that. The mask and my head on his chest kept me from knowing for sure. "I used to love standing on the roof of the Opera."

"What changed?" My back straightening as he tightened his grip, a quiet gasp being my only sound. Silence took his place. Nuzzling his chest, I took to the quiet and just enjoyed being held in Paris.

When he spoke, he did so in a soft voice. "Back then, you could see the stars." My eyes drifted upwards to the inky sky. Though the heavens were empty, it was easy to imagine millions of stars surrounding us. _If only we had flowers and candles, then it would be a very romantic evening._ I suppressed my laughter as the thought passed through my brain.

Wet struck my face. Breaking his hold, I wiped away a drop of water. Another plopped against my hair, soaking a few roots and chilling my scalp. He took my hand, pulling me out of what would become a torrential rain storm and into the opening we had walked through. Sliding the door into place, we were left in darkness. I squeezed his hand, grabbing his wrist with the other.

"Monsieur?" He gave my hand a light squeeze, a silent 'I'm here' before towing me a little further. "I don't want to go back." He paused, and I could almost feel his eyes on me as though appraising my words through my face.

"Come closer." My feet moved before I could argue, allowing him to wrap his arm around me and lift me up. The hallway had enough room for me to lay in his arms without my feet striking the walls. Head nestled against his chest, I closed my eyes and let sleep take me.

Opening my eyes did nothing to bring me out of darkness. I sat up, my arm supporting me on the soft surface I had been laid on. Shadows shifted all around me, some objects semi-visible though not enough that I knew what they were. My arm giving way, I fell back down and let my head sink into the pillow. Its fabric crinkled under the pressure. Breathing deep, I could smell the faint perfume of roses in it. The evening came to me in slow thoughts. _How long have I been here?_ I wondered, glancing around the room in search of a clock. _Where am I, anyway?_ Swinging my legs over the edge of the bed, it being the only thing I was sure of, I rose and balanced myself on its headboard. There was a faint glimmer near the far wall, a light peering between the cracks of a door. I shuffled my feet. My hand groped the door before landing on a knob and turning it. I expected the door to squeak, but the hinges opened with little than a faint groan.

Gentle orange light radiated from a candle fixed to the wall. There were several lining the hallway, filling the narrow space with warmth and thrown shadows against royal red and gold wallpaper. Two dark stained wooden doors faced each other at the opposite ends of the hall, with the door I emerged from being the only other. Curiosity took my feet and led them to the door on the left. Its knob found itself in my hand and I turned it slow, careful to not make too much noise.

The room inside was dark, but the light from the hall illuminated some of the objects inside. Wood easels, splattered in various paints, lay scattered about the room. Several had canvases settled on them, though none where the light could reveal them. One stretch of canvas laid near the door, but its work had been blotted out with black paint. I could see, where the taint had not ruined, the delicate petals of white flowers – lilies-of-the-valley, I recognized them from the gardens – and a large tree. Whatever the subject had been was gone, soaking in inky death. _Shame_ , I thought. _The rest of the painting looks really nice._ The door swung closed, slow at the end as to not slam and attract attention. I looked down the hall at the middle door again and hummed. I wandered back to it and settled my hand on the knob.

The one at the opposite end of the hall opened. He walked through, head turned slightly downward as he moved. Amber eyes flickered over me, to the door, then back fixedly on me. "You're awake," He said. As soon as the words had left him mouth, he stood straighter and walked right to me. "Did you sleep well?" I gave a small nod and he hummed. There were murmured words against porcelain that were hard to decipher but sounded almost like "should've gotten more clothes" before he moved to stand beside me and offered his arm. "Shall we? You have a busy day, ma'mselle."

"Oh, do I?" I asked as I hooked my arm around his. "And what is in my schedule today?" I tried to keep my face a mask of the Victorian noble, but one side glance from him and I broke apart in laughter. His eyes crinkled. Together, we walked out the door he had come in. It led to a sitting room, small and sparsely decorated. The walls were two toned, with white on the upper half of the wall and a warm brown on the bottom. Pale wood covered the floor. A few chairs sat nestled in the corner, a rug laid in front of a brick façade almost like a fireplace if it were not lacking an opening. On the other side of the room, a simple table sat pushed up against the wall and two matching chairs sat across from each other.

A painting hung on the wall, a seaside landscape with the same signature as the ones upstairs. "Who paints all these?" I asked. My teeth crushed my tongue for asking such a stupid question.

He paused, staring at the work. "That's the coast of Calais, back when I was a child." His gaze stayed firm as he spoke.

 _Of course it was him._ I blushed at my mind's reprimand. _You literally just saw his studio. Who else would paint these?_ I looked back to the painting and, stepping away to get closer, noticed the small flaws that became invisible at a distance. Colors unblended, the monotony in the sky, the poor shading. _His early work then,_ I decided, noting the vast improvement the work in my hall showed.

My hall. My house. "Where exactly are we?"

No word escaped from beneath the sealed lips on his mask. Instead, he took my hand again and led me through another door. A makeshift porch, illuminated by near dead candles. Beyond the small home was a vast crater that extended in every direction. Tunnels encased in darkness drew my eyes to their abyss. "The heart of the catacombs, Mam'selle Dubois." Pride laced his words. "The manor is directly above us. We must return, your father will be missing you." He jumped off the platform and gestured for me to do the same. He caught me around my hips, lowering me to the ground like I weighed no more than a doll.

Looking from here, I could see the brick façade of the house and the brown tiles illuminated by what little light remained. A little light glimmered to the side, and I turned to see Monsieur with a now lit candle in a brass holder. "Cute lair," I said with a smirk.

His eyes narrowed, the flame flicking ominously in the amber irises. "It's not a lair," he said sternly, "it's my home." The way he said 'home' sounded like how some people might refer to a holy place misnamed in their presence. My smile faltered but it did not fall from my face.

"It's wonderful."

We walked along the edge of the empty canals, his hand in mine and a candle lighting our way. A small smile formed on my face as I watched it flicker. He had no need of it, I knew that for certain. Comforting me was its duty. The empty caverns echoed with my footsteps and the scurrying of things unseen. My eyes stayed fixed on the back of Erik's head. Nothing could convince me to look at the cracks and crevices where vermin gathered to watch us. Occasionally my eye would stray and peer at strange things, like the statues that appeared. Giant men wielding swords as though they were trapped in epic battle in the middle of the sewers. My jaw locked to keep the flow of questions from erupting from my brain, and if the content silence was any confirmation, Erik appreciated it.

Erik. He walked in complete silence. Never did his head turn, like looking at me would trap me here forever. I whispered his name, watching as he froze for the smallest moment. His pace kept steady, now pulling me more than guiding. I thought I saw his jaw clench, but the flicker of the flame left me doubting.

On and on the tunnel stretched. It curved like a serpent and drew more and more upwards. Cobblestone crept closer and closer. The tunnel tapering, I prayed. Please let us be reaching the end. The air around us had turned to lead, weighing down my thoughts and tongue. Any questions I conjured were swallowed. My tongue found a resting place between my teeth as I ground it into silence. His stern grip supplemented my now lax one as my fingers lost their ability to cling to him. Does Dad know where I've been? I wondered.

He did not flinch when I asked. "No," he said. His voice had no irritation in it, no vehemence. He sounded like he always did. Quiet, careful, like he was always considering his next words with the utmost caution. Still, his curt reply made me pull my hand back, just a reflexive response. Not enough to break his grip. I almost ran into him when he stopped and finally looked at me. The amber of his eye was clear, his pupils shrunk to pinpricks. Seeing me, he relaxed and adjusted his grip as to keep a firm hold of me again.

Towing me along once more, I peered around him to the space ahead. The tunnel cut off ahead of us, with a strange arch standing etched into the stone. His eyes were crinkled in the corners as he handed me the brass candlestick. Approaching the arch, he turned to look at me one more time before wiping his hand across the surface. I nearly dropped the light. Where his hand had removed dust revealed a pane of glass, another room beyond it. He fiddled with something in the arch, and the glass moved to show a large room filled with boxes. Now content to walk behind, he let me lead us through the sea of old wooden crates and…props? Large cutouts of houses and trees. At the opposite end of the room hid the staircase, and it took much winding and changing direction to find a path through the maze. Up the stairs and into a grand expanse of emptiness. The stairs were close, but it did not stop my drive to walk through the barren room. Up again, and the walls of the next level had been converted into a honeycomb of wine bottles.

"The basements?" I asked, the question a thought that escaped my mouth. Monsieur hummed behind me, a positive note that acted as his confirmation. With my foot on the steps, he uncurled my fingers from the candle and blew it out. My hand shot out. Fingers snatched his arm and held their quarry close to me.

He laughed, soft and low. "Is the Mam'selle afraid?" He asked. The bend of his arm changed. "Don't worry." His voice was a whisper beside me. "I'm the only thing hiding here." Where his arm had been turned to air and I stumbled down a step.

"Thank you," I said to the darkness. Ascending the last of the steps, I escaped the basement and entered the kitchen.

No evidence of a dinner party had been left behind. The counters and appliances bore not a speck of sauce or dust. My stomach lurched, reminding me of how little I had eaten. The fridge became the object of my fascination and I forced its door open with renewed vigor. Chief amongst the vegetables and meats was a plate filled with linguini and meat, covered in plastic and the word "saved" etched in red marker.

The microwave could not have worked fast enough. I was mid-shoveling when Dad entered the kitchen with his brow furrowed and his eyes downcast. Seeing me changed his expression entirely. His eyes shone brighter and his scowl turned to a smile. "There you are, princess." He grabbed a chair next to mine and sat down. "Didn't know you were awake yet." He quirked an eyebrow at my sauce-stained face.

I swallowed, licked my lips, and smiled. "Been up for a little while," I said. More pasta twirled onto my fork, and I shamelessly rammed it down my gullet. Dad rolled his eyes and laughed.

"Give the girl a choice and she'll have veal for breakfast." He tried to look serious, but the smile and chuckling ruined any chance of that. He gave me a minute to clean the plate before taking it from me. "Any more nightmares last night?" The faucet squeaked as hot water poured into the sink.

"No," I said, trying to think back to before waking in a rose-scented darkness, "just slept, I guess."

"Good." He shook the plate dry and set it on the counter. "D'ya want to join us for a walk this morning? Mam'selle Babineaux suggested it last night and the company praised the idea."

I bit the tines of my fork and hummed a low note. Walking sounded nice, even with the wandering I had just done down below. "Sure," I said, flashing him a smile. "Why not?" He returned a smile and stole the fork. He gestured for me to go, get dressed, and I stuck my tongue out at him before walking to my door.

The lock gave no resistance as I entered my room. _Monsieur must've unlocked it for me._ A smile crept across my face as the thought passed through. Chuckling, I placed my hands over my face. _I'm such an idiot, getting so bothered by him_. Settled, I began riffling through my clothes.

* * *

 **I'm sorry that this took so long to come out. Life slammed me like a freight train these part few months and I haven't gotten much of any writing done. Hopefully this was worth the wait.**

 **Part of me wants to promise some sort of a schedule, but that takes some of the joy out of writing for me. Honestly, I write best when I just sit down and do it. I had the majority of this chapter down months ago, but I wanted it finished. Thus it comes 6 months late.**

 **Know that I'm not giving up on any of my projects, it's just a matter of me sitting down and doing** **the** **work. Which might be difficult if this job I've applied for goes through. No promises, but I might be writing out of China here soon. We'll see.**

 **I remain your obedient servant,**

 **E.V**


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